The End of Us
by ebon-drake
Summary: An angsty retelling of the DoTU story from Doom's PoV. For now, contains one-sided Haggar x Zarkon, one-sided Lotor x Allura (from afar), and one-sided Zarkon x Lotor's mom. Set in the DoTU timeline with influences from both Go-Lion and DDP. Contains adult language and themes. Rated M. IN PROGRESS.
1. The End of Us, Ch 1

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**Author's Note:**Yet another older fic that has been slightly revised... This was originally an entry for a lyric wheel competition started by Cheezey on the Voltron's Fancy ML, and well... it kinda grew into something longer, and consequently never became submitted (Sorry Karen AKA Lady Adorabelle!). There is only one statement in this fic that is a lyric from Meatloaf's song... Can you find it? I am still not that great at writing angst, but I wanted to do a piece based on the relationship between Haggar and Zarkon. As always, constructive C&C is always welcome.

**The End of Us, Ch. 1**

Haggar did not pay any special attention to the personnel that she shuffled past in the opulent hallways of Planet Doom's palace, but she definitely sensed their eyes boring a collective hole into her bony back. She was long used to this. One did not need to be a telepath to pick up on their thoughts; their fear and disgust seemed as tangible as the obsidian-colored walls that surrounded them all.

…_Fools, all of them…_, she thought contemptuously.

Let them stare then. She was the most powerful sorceress in the Denubian Galaxy and bore her battle scars from the battle with Voltron with pride. So what if it had left her body broken and misshapen? She held the knowledge and powers of the cosmos in her hand, and when it came to physical aesthetics, well, she could certainly change her shape to match any of her various whims. What was a mere feeble-minded mortal when compared to this?

The majority of the offending rubberneckers lay in Haggar's wake when she finally arrived at the annex in Castle Doom that led to her laboratories. But it was not the place where she conducted her endless arcane experiments that she was headed. Instead she passed it and entered her nearby suite of rooms. The abode was dim as the witch set foot through the door, but with an impatient gesture of her left hand, the room brightened slightly as a soft light began to glow overhead. The room's decor was darkly sumptuous yet distinctly feminine, a distant reminder of the station she once held. Haggar quietly keyed the door shut behind her and shambled in what had become her usual awkward gait towards the large bed in the center. She stared at the bed for a brief moment before slowly sitting down on the edge of it. Her slight weight only left a minor indentation on the thick mattress. The atmosphere of the room was quiet, somber.

The witch's resolute expression suddenly faltered and cracked as her gnarled hands flew up to cover her hooded face. Her small body shook as she began to choke on unvoiced sobs. Tears began to bud at the corners of her eyes, which were squeezed tightly shut.

…_No! I am not going to show this weakness!._.., she thought furiously to herself.

The tears that flowed down her cracked and wrinkled flesh stung, but it was nothing compared to numbing void that plagued her. The sensation of smooth fur rubbing against her skinny legs soon disturbed her from her reverie. Instinctively, her fingers reached out to idly stroke her familiar's comforting presence.

"It's nothing, Coba...," she sighed despairingly.

With a shuddering breath, Haggar silently stood back up and gathered her dull robes about herself. Barely breathing, the sorceress gingerly lowered her cowl back in front of a nearby mirror and allowed herself to gaze upon her own countenance for the first time in years since the disaster; the only difference this time was that there was no initial shock or horror. The same ugly scars still crisscrossed her face. The harsh, yellow eyes that glared back at her were no different than they had been years ago. Her skin, once smooth and whole in the distant past, was now wrinkled and mutilated. What hair she still had left was pulled back into a dark, sparse braid.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Haggar pressed her palms together tightly, focusing sharply as she sensed a familiar power building within her. Concentrating on a Word, she felt herself commencing a metamorphosis. The first time that she had ever transformed, it had been painful. Her body had felt as if it were bathing in fire as her features twisted and became something unnatural. But now, after years of tutelage in the black arts, she could recreate herself with all the ease of shaping clay. All for the wishes of the one she loved and who would now never return the words she so desperately longed to hear.

Haggar struggled to fight back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks again when she reopened her amber eyes. As if to mock her, the face that currently occupied the reflective surface was the complete antithesis of her own. Golden, Terran-like eyes stared back at her, fixated, while full lips curled into an apprehensive frown. Thick, ebony hair cascaded down her neck and back, framing high cheekbones and pale, azure skin with the clarity of pure water.

The witch abruptly screamed with rage and threw the mirror to the floor. As the shards of glass bounced across the hard ground, she wept anew into her claw-like hands.

..._I_ _am a husk... A withered shell of what I once was_..., she thought desolately.

It seemed like a lifetime ago... when she had been whole... and when he had been more than simply the emperor to her. Back when he had been her Are'es, and belonged to nobody else but her.

* * *

><p>"You shall be my wife...," he had murmured to her spontaneously one day as they lay together in a massive canopy bed near an open balcony.<p>

Her eyes had immediately widened in shock. A hesitant smile then began to curve across her lips, as if she were unsure if he were playing a cruel joke on her.

"Surely, you don't mean...?"

He glanced at her roguishly for a moment before his look abruptly softened with tenderness. He lightly brushed his large hand up against her cheek, noticing just how much her pale skin contrasted with his own dark blue flesh.

"You alone have stood by my side when no one else believed that I could make a kingdom from nothing... You alone helped me. I need that steadfastness."

Haggar, or Aya'la as she had been known as then, had to force herself to hold back tears of joy as she embraced him fiercely.

"Do you have any idea how much I have longed to hear those words from you?" she gasped.

For a moment, she looked down at Are'es contentedly, and he smiled back. Although he was not a handsome man, the sheer inner strength and power that he commanded attracted those who would normally shy away from him. But this was not why she loved him. When others had turn their back on her, spitting upon her so-called power, Are'es had been there, encouraging her along and supporting her.

"You will do great things, dear one...," he had whispered into her ear seductively, "You will become more powerful than all of those who mock your gifts... I will make sure of it."

Little did she know just how true his words were to become.

* * *

><p>Years later, Aya'la was confronted by a rather dour-faced Are'es, now the leader of a fledgling empire. His dark countenance had grown a bit more weathered, but his presence remained imposing, and his felinoid eyes glowed warmly as they always had. She loved him no less than she had when they first met, but she was now experiencing her first bitter pangs of jealousy.<p>

Are'es Zarkon appeared apprehensive to her as he ran his large hand through his now-thinning shock of white hair.

"Aya'la... don't look at me so, dearest one..." he sighed imploringly.

"Can you truly call me so, you who have promised yourself to another?" she spat at him like a cornered animal licking its wounds.

The young sorceress quickly crossed her arms tightly over her body and turned her head to the side, her cheeks reddening with anger.

"Now, listen, woman-!" Zarkon exploded before squaring his prominent jaw as he fought to retain what little patience remained within him, "...Aya'la, you know why I must do this." His tone softened noticeably.

"The Supremacy Council essentially exiled my family from ever living in Drule space again, you know this. After years of wandering and building up our forces, we came across this barren rock and created something magnificent from it... The fact is my armies are only increasing in size and the Supremacy can no longer ignore this. Although they do not see the endless sacrifice that was required to create this realm from utter nothingness, they do see the loyalty my people have for my house and the glory my empire brings to me. I think the Council is eyeing Korrinoth as a potential kingdom of the Supremacy, Aya'la... Although I would just as well curse those two-faced bastards into the deepest pits of hell, I cannot help but think of the possibilities such a union could bring us...," he trailed of pensively, lost in thought, "Korrinoth is the largest force the Crimson Quadrant has and will ever see - they have even nicknamed our world Planet Doom, is that not amusing?" Zarkon smiled wolfishly for a moment before sobering his expression, "But it is still young, untried. I have been ruler of this planet for only a short time now; I must have an heir in order to secure my position."

He stepped closer towards her, and when she would not look at him, he gently cupped her chin and turned her face towards him.

"I could give you the heir that you desire, and you know that, Are'es...," she whispered lowly.

Zarkon winced inwardly as she said this.

Sighing again in frustration, he tried to explain once more. "The child must come from royal blood. That is why I must marry her..."

Aya'la immediately spun out of his grasp.

"You mean that whore?" she cried hoarsely, "You promised yourself to me! You are where you are at because of me!"

The Drule monarch's temper began to rise at this.

Gnashing his pointed canines together, he growled dangerously at her, "...And while I am no less GRATEFUL for what you have done, I must still do this! Why is that so difficult to comprehend?"

Aya'la merely stared desolately at the black marble flooring at her feet before responding quietly. "But... you know that I love you... So why isn't that enough?"

Zarkon's massive frame slumped down in seeming defeat.

"And I care for you no less," he murmured softly as he gently stroked her thick hair, "You know that I am only doing this for an heir. You are the one who belongs to me... and I, you..." Aya'la, although still rigid, allowed herself to melt slightly at his silken words, "And when this is over... you will be at my side as my rightful empress."

And like magic, her burning indignation had been soothed... at least for the time being.

* * *

><p>The months came and went. Zarkon emerged victorious from every battle, and went on to conquer numerous other planets, even some outside of the Crimson Quadrant. At his bidding, Aya'la's power also grew as she furthered her studies of the darker magics. From time to time, she would catch glimpses of his... concubine (she refused to acknowledge the Terran as his legal wife), first heavily pregnant, and then carrying in her arms the babe that should have been hers, and what a child it was - downy white hair, light azure skin, mischievous golden eyes, handsome. He had been named Lotor. And while one would assume that whoever gave birth to such a promising son would indeed be a proud mother, the frail, alien woman often appeared distant and forlorn. At times, Aya'la was tempted to pity her, but her scorn and old jealousies often arose and quickly extinguished what little compassion she might have felt towards her.<p>

"Why do you bear such an honor as if it were your curse?" she wanted to demand imperiously at her, "There are others who would gladly set aside everything simply to be in your place!"

..._Others like me_..., she finished her unvoiced thought sadly.

She remained Are'es' mistress, but it was not quite the same. She wanted him to herself, for things to be as they were before he had slipped on the grandiose title of "Emperor". However, any uprisings of bitterness that she might have felt were eventually quelled by luxurious whispers under silken sheets, and so she remained his staunch supporter. Whenever he needed her powers, they were at his disposal. Whenever he needed one of her genetically-engineered war creatures, or robeasts, as they were more commonly known as now, she would create one. Whenever he needed her advice, she was there, all in the vain hope that he would remember her and everything she had done, and not forget the promise he had made to her so long ago.

Finally, that day came... or so it seemed to.

* * *

><p>Zarkon had become an unstoppable juggernaut, taking the Denubian Galaxy by storm. He was poised on controlling all four of the Quadrants until he came upon one planet in particular. This planet did not appear special in any way, yet it sent her Are'es into rages, the likes of which she had not witnessed for many years. She was puzzled at his frustration at first, but after listening to him spin tales of a renegade ruler and a robotic sentinel, she chose to look into matters further for herself.<p>

Aya'la was chilled when the name of the monarch emerged as a ghost from her distant past - Alfor. That was a name she had not heard for a very long time... He was now the king of Planet Arus. The name of the strange guardian was new, however... Voltron. The enormous mecha was seemingly unbeatable; countless numbers of her robeasts had been felled by its blade. As she gleaned further information about it, she soon discovered the legend behind the mysterious robot. Voltron was incredibly old, forged from both magic and alien technology long ago. How it ended up in the hands of the Arusians, she did not know, but the more she learned of it, the more the mechanized guardian intrigued her, and the more it sent Zarkon to her side, forcing him to acknowledge how much he needed her. In this, she felt a joyful, if not slightly perverse, satisfaction. He was her Are'es again.

"Aya'la, you must help me," he would murmur feverishly to her at night as she idly stroked the top of his now-sparse head, "I have done everything that I can think of. That fool Alfor continues to resist me... And that damn mecha! I-I will lose face if this continues... Only you can help me, Aya'la. If you defeat Voltron... I swear that I will make you my empress!"

Aya'la felt a wondrous smile curving across her lips. "Oh, Are'es! Do you truly mean it this time?"

Zarkon stared intently down at her with his cat-like eyes, his grip tightening on her shoulder.

"I swear it," he breathed, "If you do this, I will set Talurae aside for you."

Her heart had felt like it would sing with joy at the moment, but she quickly thrust that feeling aside as her calculating mind went to work on a plan that would salvage her lover's pride.

* * *

><p>For the next few days, she isolated herself within her laboratory, exploring and meditating upon the mysterious entity known as Voltron, its possible origins, its function, and, of course, its weaknesses, if any existed. No one thing was truly invincible. Everything had a weakness. All that one had to do in order to discover it was to poke and prod, and look in places that had never been fully searched before.<p>

After many hours, Aya'la's saffron eyes finally snapped wide open.

..._That's it!..._ she thought, incredulous, ..._Voltron's weakness!_ ..._It's_ _their arrogance!_... _The people of Arus think that they are untouchable_... _and that shall be their downfall_...

And so she went on with her plan, her grand masterpiece that would win Are'es back to her side once and for all.


	2. The End of Us, Ch 2

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**The End of Us, Ch. 2**

Aya'la did not want to admit to it at the time, but as she hung suspended within the astral void, she was terrified. In the distance, she could see Voltron coming towards her, her lure working only too well. She had never full well appreciated just how large the robotic guardian was until now.

..._I must stay calm!_..., she firmly told herself, ignoring the jelly-like feeling within her legs, ..._Coba'a, please remain with me_...

Her last thought was a plea directed towards her demonic counterpart, its ghostly companionship the only company she had endured for the past few weeks. Its mysterious presence had frightened her when she had first encountered it during her meditative trances, but like Are'es, it had seductively wrapped itself around her body, promising her untold power, showing her what they could accomplish together. At least, she soon sadly realized, it did what Are'es had not done; the demon had actually fulfilled the promises it had made to her. With its aid, she had reached pinnacles within her power that she had not dreamt possible of reaching.

And so she stood now in the distant reaches of the Denubian Galaxy, her body's only defense the protective shield that Coba'a had surrounded her with. Exhaling, Aya'la began to recite the familiar incantations under her breath as she gestured stiffly with her hands in the air. The very air that surrounded her within her private sphere began to crackle with power, and she could feel Coba'a twining itself around her body, faster and faster, until she felt its power welling up inside of her. Her veins pulsed with what felt like liquid fire, and the sensation rushed towards her fingertips. Her features became bathed in an ethereal haze as the demon masked her presence within its own. She was now something more... more than she ever could be while alone.

Voltron was now very close to her, but the mecha seemed somehow less imposing and threatening than before; rather, it, if it were even possible, now appeared to be the apprehensive one. She felt herself smile beguilingly and stretch forth her hand in a benevolent manner towards the mechanized guardian, as if to say, "Come here, child..."

To her disbelief, Voltron accepted her goddess-guise and drifted even closer to her. Finally, when it was near enough, the sorceress gently extended her arms forward. As she embraced the gigantic sentinel, the coldness of its metallic exterior barely penetrated Coba'a's protective barrier.

..._I do this for you, Are'es_...

This single thought echoed desolately in her mind as a tear drifted aimlessly from the corner of her eye. A heartbeat's moment later, everything that Aya'la knew erupted into a world of fire.

* * *

><p>Aya'la did not know exactly how long she had been unconscious, but from what others could recall of the incident, it had been many days before her eyes finally opened. Upon looking back, however, the only thing that she could remember was a searing pain, a pain so intense, she could scarcely scream. She had been delirious at first, but as the hours stretched on, her mind began to regain its normal clarity, and as it did so, one dominant thought appeared again and again.<p>

"Are'es... Where is Are'es?" she muttered hoarsely, clutching feebly at the thin hand of the nameless attendant who hovered over her.

The young witch would not notice how haggard her voice had suddenly become until much later.

"Please stay calm, my Lady. You remain severely injured," the female attendant replied gently, "Are you referring to the emperor? We will request his presence for you shortly."

Aya'la gave a shuddering gasp and fell back onto the bed on which her body rested. For the next few minutes, she merely listened to the hushed murmurs that drifted throughout the room. When all suddenly became quiet, she gingerly cracked open her aching yellow eyes.

"Are'es...," she sighed, her voice laced with pain.

Zarkon's familiar tall outline stood over her, but never in her lifetime would she ever forget the look of utter disgust in his felinoid eyes.

The monarch's lips were twisted into an apprehensive grimace. "Aya'la... What... happened to you?"

She gave a rattling cough before responding. "The spell... did it work?"

His disdainful countenance briefly melted into an expression of anxiety.

"Intelligence notified me of a great explosion, and the remains of Voltron falling back down to Arus in five pieces. It looks as if that damn robot is finally out of commission, but it is too early to tell."

Not one word that he spoke betrayed any concern for her present condition.

As she exhaled another pained sigh, he spoke to her one last time that night.

"You must rest now," he explained, suddenly distant to her, "I will return to you tomorrow."

Without a second glance, he turned his back towards her. As he proceeded to walk out of the medical bay, Aya'la closed her eyes to the harsh lighting of the room and listened to the echoing footsteps of the love of her life. As she heard the doors to the bay hissing open, her heart felt as if it would rupture into a thousand pieces as she heard Zarkon mutter the cruelest words he had ever spoken of her to the Drule attendant standing near him.

"I want you to ensure that that... _hag'ga'ar_... survives her injuries. We might need her to finish some potentially unfinished business. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Emperor," she heard the attendant reply reverently.

The portal then ominously hissed shut.

_Hag'ga'ar_. The vulgar word agonizingly imbedded itself into the interior of her mind. In one moment, every single act of selfless devotion that she had ever performed for him was reduced down to three spoken syllables.

_Hag'ga'ar_.

Withered Abomination.

..._Is this all that I am to you, Are'es?_...

Her bodily pain was now complete.

* * *

><p>Again, the years came and went.<p>

Aya'la, or Haggar, as she was presently known as, had grown only more powerful than before, her magical abilities reaching untold limits despite her remaining battle scars left over from the incident with Voltron. Although the great explosion had left her permanently disfigured, there had been one silver lining in that disaster - Coba'a, or Coba, her kindred spirit. Once her demonic protector, he was now her companion and familiar. The only difference now was that he trotted about in the non-threatening guise of a common feline.

She had had her suspicions of Voltron's demise, but her blow to the robotic guardian had been devastating. True to Zarkon's words, the mecha had been shattered into five pieces and sent flying back down to Arus. With their main defense system down, Are'es had eventually reduced the planet to ashes. As if to assuage his injured pride, the emperor had been particularly ruthless with the verdant world, destroying everything and enslaving virtually the entire human population. King Alfor and the members of the royal family that could be located had been brutally executed in the aftermath of the notorious battle in the Valley of Zohar. Satisfied that he had had his vengeance, Zarkon at last turned his back on the pitiful remains of Arus and onto grander things. There were no further signs of life from the forgotten planet.

Meanwhile, Zarkon's little son, Lotor, had grown a great deal. He was now a great strapping boy, still as promising as he had been at birth. He was a perfect blend of his father and mother, with pale blue flesh and delicately pointed ears. At times, he was difficult and mulish, but was otherwise quite mindful and studious when he chose to be. Upon reaching twelve years of age, he had been sent off to the prestigious Drule Academy to learn the art of warfare, where he remained still.

The child's mother had died long ago, killed by the emperor's hand under the charges of adultery and treason. Haggar had found the charges against the Terran woman to be questionable, but since his actions had eliminated her only competition to his heart, she had said nothing, and nobody else dared to say a thing that might potentially bring down the wrath of a despot who ruled his domain with an iron fist.

After Zarkon's conquest of Planet Arus, Haggar had expected him to keep the promise that he had made to her so long ago, but the duplicitous monarch continued to bait and evade her, augmenting his promise with added conditions that could seemingly never be fulfilled. Despite his newfound cruelty towards her and the never-ending hurt she endured thereafter, she still loved him enough to continue to try and please him.

Her inner anguish was excruciating at times, but when she threw her being into furthering her studies or creating new robeasts, the pain would become bearable. Inwardly, she knew that Zarkon's power indirectly hinged upon her own. He had built an empire out of nothing, but she was the foundation. All of his accomplishments were because of her. Without her, he would still be a struggling soldier trying to regain the lost glory of his exiled family.

..._He needs me... He has forgotten, and I must make him remember_...

That single thought sustained her enough to endure the following years.


	3. The End of Us, Ch 3

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**The End of Us, Ch. 3**

"Haggar!"

Zarkon's tremendous bellow echoed within the throne room of Castle Doom. His advisor's presence melted from the shadows.

"Yes, Emperor," she replied, her tone reminiscent of rocks being ground up together.

Although it had been a long time since the incident with Voltron, the monarch never seemed to grow completely accustomed to the infirmities she had sustained since then. Through much practice, however, he was able to school his features into a constant stoic, if not harsh, expression whenever he required her presence.

"Something has come up," Zarkon's felinoid eyes focused upon her, "Are you aware of what has just occurred?"

"Of course, Sire," she chuckled lowly as she reached down to stroke Coba, her constant companion, as the feline wound itself tightly around her lower body, "The Terrans that you captured have escaped, thanks to the ineptness of your guards, and are now heading towards Arus to see if the legend behind Voltron is true. And now you are frightened that they might resurrect the mecha by uniting its broken body."

"How very astute of you, witch," he sneered cruelly, ignoring the sting of her jibes, "And if you had done your job properly, there would be no pieces with which to unite Voltron!"

"And if you had done _your_ job properly, there would have been no royal family members left alive to seek help from the Alliance, and the legend of Voltron would have died along with them," Haggar scoffed as she rebuffed his statement.

The Drule monarch gripped his throne's armrests to the point where his knuckles whitened, the disciplined expression on his weathered face faltering.

"I would remember who you are speaking to," he growled lowly.

The sorceress had to smother a crude laugh as she averted her gaze from his lofty frame. Oh, his presence was still intimidating, and although she still loved him, she had lost respect for him long ago. The years had certainly not been kind to him, either. Although the mirror had never been his friend, time had left exceedingly deep creases and age spots on his skin, darkening its already dim hue. His silver hair was all but gone now. And he was now glaring at her furiously.

"You will rectify your mistake," Zarkon uttered quietly.

She pursed her withered lips before responding. "No. Not until you fulfill your promise to me, Are'es."

His mouth fell open, revealing pointed canines. Of all the answers she could have given, this had been the one that he had least expected.

"I told you long ago...," he finally managed to find the words to speak, "You were forbidden to call me by that name."

The witch clutched her gnarled staff tightly as she laughed bitterly, "Oh, yes, it would simply destroy you for the galaxy to know that Haggar the Witch was once your lover."

An expression of pure incredulity washed over the countenance of the former love of her life. "Why do you bring this up now?"

"You made a promise to me, and despite years of chicanery, I have remained at your side. Without me, your precious empire would crumble to dust," she replied bitingly, "I want what you pledged to me so many years ago."

Zarkon narrowed his saffron eyes at her. "Yes, I did promise to make you my empress, but under the condition that you destroyed Voltron. And yet here we are, with the threat of Voltron's resurrection hanging in the air. Disabled is not the same as destroyed. You failed to keep your part of the bargain."

"Bargain?" Haggar spluttered incredulously, "Is that all that this has been to you?"

He stared at her distantly.

"You are fortunate that you were not left in space to die for your failure," he stated coldly, "And for that, you should be grateful."

The woman in Haggar felt the familiar inner pang of her heart cracking, but she desperately sought to conceal it beneath the cover of scathing indifference.

"And the fact that I have remained faithful to you and your empire means nothing to you?"

To this, he said nothing.

The sorceress allowed her impassive expression to falter. "Are'es..."

Zarkon abruptly stood up from his massive throne, drawing himself up to his full height.

"Call me not by that name, witch!" he thundered, his mottled face flushing to a darker shade of blue.

"We might have shared something in the past, but in the past it shall remain!" he continued, his prominent eyes taking on a disquieting quality, "No, do not speak, for I know what you would say! Think what you will, Haggar, but never once in all of these years did I say that I was in love with you. You planted that idea in your own mind. Your service has been invaluable over the years, and I have rewarded you well for that service, but you forget your place, witch. ...Now, go to Arus and take care of Voltron before I deal to you what fate would have dealt you long ago for your mistake!"

The emperor's harsh words rained down on her like jagged rocks.

For a brief moment, her heart stopped and her breath caught in her throat. She almost stumbled, as well, but her two-fisted grip on her staff kept her from reeling. Sensing her distress, Coba hissed lowly and butted his head into one of his mistress' atrophied calves. The demonic energy from the blue feline bolstered Haggar somewhat, and the grip she held on her staff loosened as one hand went down to pat her familiar, a little harder than she intended.

"You are correct, as always, Sire," she finally pronounced, steeling herself as she furiously tried to conceal the bitterness she was now feeling from entering her voice, "You have been generous to this witch, despite the failure to completely destroy Voltron. I allowed past emotions to cloud my judgment; I have indeed forgotten my place. Forgive me, Sire; it will not happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Zarkon replied chilly, his crimson-and-black mantle sweeping outwards as he reseated himself upon his throne, "But I am glad that you possess the wisdom to recognize the mercy I showed you, despite that miscarriage of a plan, and I have not failed to reward you in other ways for your loyalty; your position in court, for one."

She seethed at so casual a reference to the great sacrifice she had made for him, but she held her tongue.

An insidious smile crossed the monarch's lips at this display of humility from her. "I believe there is an unattended matter on Arus that needs dealing with, Haggar."

Dismissed like a servant, she lowered her gaze so that her cowl obscured her pained expression. "Yes, Sire. I will prepare a most powerful robeast to deploy with the fleet to Arus immediately."

The emperor's earlier fury was now almost completely gone; the amusement in his tone of voice to her was apparent.

"Succeed this time, witch, and I just may bestow that great honor you so desperately seek upon you after all. Or maybe even give you the planet of Arus itself. How would you like access to the secrets of Voltron and the Castle of Lions? Imagine what you could create from that alien technology."

His taunt was met with nothing but a silent bow as the sorceress and her familiar phased back into the shadows from whence they had come.


	4. The End of Us, Ch 4

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**The End of Us, Ch. 4**

Alien words, alternating between raging and weeping, assailed the puckered holes that now served as Haggar's ears, but they garnered no response from the witch. Her dim eyes were half-closed, her awareness barely focused on her surroundings.

..._Think what you will, Haggar, but never once in all these years did I say that I was in love with you_...

The former words of the emperor of the Doom Empire cut into the fiber of her being. As if in response to the cruel expression, brighter words echoed back, mocking her to her core.

..._You shall be my wife_...

The evanescent glow was instantly cooled by a numbing iciness.

..._Your service has been invaluable over the years, and I have rewarded you well for that service, but you forget your place, witch_...

..._You are the one who belongs to me... and I, you_...

..._Ha'ga'ar!_...

..._Aya'la_...

The constant back and forth volley of warmth and frigidity suddenly erupted into a massive spike of pain that lanced her soul.

..._Now, go to Arus and take care of Voltron before I deal to you what fate would have dealt you long ago for your mistake!_...

The sorceress savagely bit into her lower lip in order to avoid keening aloud in grief, sharp canines piercing her wrinkled flesh. The coppery tang of blood on her tongue delivered her back from her reverie. She was standing next to a transparent enclosure within her laboratory, alone save for the presence of Coba and a slave fortunate enough to have previously caught her attention.

A massive and heavily scarred human, the male specimen was undoubtedly from the Azure Quadrant based upon the angry Lyran spewing forth from his mouth. He struggled fiercely against the restraints that held him in a prone position against the metallic wall behind him, his impressive musculature bulging in vain. Tears streamed down his flashing eyes, but, surprisingly, they were not inspired by fear. His expression was one of unconstrained anger and pain; he was obviously a recent acquisition, for any significant time spent on Doom as chattel would have long broken him of his spirit. Any able-bodied slave learned quickly to not stand out in any way, for there was a chance they would be selected as a specimen for the experiments of the defaced monstrosity that was once rumored to have been a beautiful woman; but surely, that was just a myth? How could anyone or anything so foul and evil once be whole and pure?

Biting her parched lip once again to contain a snarl that mirrored the same rage expressed by her specimen, Haggar dully pressed a button that flashed upon a console next to the enclosure. No sound issued forth, but a thick, viscous fluid began to ooze through the translucent tubing that was festooned around the slave and pierced his skin. His pained eyes darted back and forth frantically as he observed the evil-looking liquid creeping closer towards him.

"You don't have to do this! You've already taken everything from me, my wife, my children, my home!" the Lyran roared in agony, straining in his bonds; all this movement accomplished, however, was to hasten the arrival of the concoction that would alter his DNA and render it pliable, "Just kill me, I'm begging you! If you have any shred of decency in you at all, you will take my life and not turn me into one of those abominations!"

His words, although behind impossibly thick glass, were still very audible. They kindled a memory within the sorceress, one that she did not want to remember, one that hailed the beginning of her despair.

..._Withered Abomination_...

His anguished declaration was the wrong thing to say to her. The words of her specimens did not normally elicit a response in Haggar, as they were just slaves, but this one struck a chord in her. Immensely stung, the witch hardened her heart and entered in a sequence on the console. Even more fluid began to course through the tubing that surrounded and penetrated the human.

"Your life will eventually expire, but before you go, you will have the privilege of becoming an agent of Emperor Zarkon, in helping to expand his glorious empire. You are just a slave now, but you will soon become a being of immense power," she uttered quietly to him.

She did not normally deign her specimens significant enough to speak to, but this one stood out in particular to her. Because this one was special, she addressed him in his own inferior tongue. She knew he could hear her, based upon his questioning gaze as he focused on her through the glass of the enclosure. She wanted him to understand her, but most of all, she wanted him to hurt, to know true suffering. Witnessing a pain that was not her own somehow dulled the ache of her own agony.

"Unlike some people, I _will_ actually keep my word to you. You _will_ become something more than you ever were in your current lifetime," she voiced coldly, pressing her clawed hands against the thick glass of the enclosure, "You _will_ ascend from the state of slavehood into glory. I do not expect you to understand now or to thank me, but you will in the end."

The Lyran jumped in his restraints and shrieked loudly as the liquid finally poured into his body. It was a concoction of Haggar's own design, one that unbound the building blocks of organic matter and returned it to its primordial state; although the slave, for now, still externally resembled a man, internally he would become malleable, like putty.

"Everything in your life up this point has been an illusion," Haggar continued, unfazed by his howling, "Your wife, your offspring, your people... are dust in the wind. The pain you feel is the only real thing you have left."

The slave became wracked by uncontrollable spasms, his tortured body bouncing repeatedly against the wall behind him. However, the sensation did not register to him; all he could feel was the unbelievable fire that was consuming him from within, and all he could hear above his own shouts was the witch's detached, yet strangely audible, voice.

"Civilizations and planets will quake in fear of you. You will get the chance for revenge, to make others suffer as you have suffered."

The fluid finished draining into the slave's body, and his wild jerking stopped. He now simply stared blankly up at the ceiling inside the enclosure. His flesh rippled slightly, as if unstable. He was now ready.

Haggar removed her hands from the enclosure and stepped back, closing her eyes and exhaling. When she reopened them, they glowed brightly and she closed her fingers into points. She breathed in sharply and gestured widely towards the walls, her dark robes flaring outwards. With a wild shriek, the slave's limbs suddenly contorted and lengthened, breaking the restraints that once held them. Bones snapped loudly and reformed with supernatural speed, while muscle tissue tore and reunited into unnatural shapes.

Keeping her arms wide, she spread her fingers and curved them towards her palms. In response, bone erupted outwards from the Lyran's limbs, splitting the flesh, but, strangely, spilling no blood. He still screamed incessantly, however. The bone grew out and downwards as it sharpened to razor points.

Limbs now disproportionately long to his torso and head, the slave slumped against the floor, dislodging the tubing and needles that once draped around and into him; he now appeared almost instectoid. Panting wildly, he opened his mouth to try and form words. Before anything could come out, however, Haggar straightened and closed her fingers again, gesturing simultaneously towards both the floor and ceiling in a stiff manner. Accompanied by the sound of breaking and rapidly healing bones, the slave's middle exploded grotesquely upwards.

Retaining her stance, the sorceress rotated her arms towards the walls again. As if in some sort of monstrous choreography, the slave's torso expanded outwards, as well, becoming suddenly proportionate to his outlandishly long and clawed limbs. Spittle frothed out of the Lyran's mouth as he issued forth yet another agonized cry.

Inhaling sharply again, Haggar relaxed her hands momentarily and brought them to her side as she shifted into a different stance. Her atrophied legs spread out wide and became bent at an angle, as if she were sitting on an invisible and awkward seat. Breathing outward, but keeping her legs spread, Haggar moved both of her arms to one side and pointed with fingers upward. With an odd popping sound, the man's neck detonated upwards and out into a sinuous parody of its former self. The head at the end, still human in comparison to the now monstrous body, continued to scream wordlessly as the serpentine neck writhed wildly.

The witch kept her posture, but spread her fingers into claws once more. Bone sundered the tortured tissue, the slave's vertebrae twisting up and out as they sharpened into terrible spikes. She returned to a standing position, but now brought her palms together and rotated them in opposing directions. As if he knew this was his last opportunity to speak aloud as a man, the slave cried out wretchedly, forming a final word. The last syllable turned into a bestial roar as his head contorted into a nightmarish shape, a muzzle bursting forth from his rapidly changing face. With a spread of her withered fingers, bone surged through the pliable flesh and formed into pointed horns, while flat molars reshaped into fangs that were too large for the now slavering maw. Haggar then slid her palms apart, hooking her fingers together and concentrating upon them for a moment. The tissue of the slave rippled again, forming into ridges and then hard scales that rapidly dulled to a dark hue.

Her flesh-shaping performance complete, the sorceress relaxed into a normal stance as the glow in her saffron eyes subsided. The conversion had been successful; a reptilian, but still vaguely humanoid, monstrosity now occupied the cell. Struggling up from the floor, the former slave awkwardly clambered to his clawed feet. He shook his huge head, and then abruptly focused on Haggar through the glass. Shrieking inhumanly, he rushed towards her, but the strong material of the enclosure held him at bay. He screamed in frustration at seeing his progress hindered and raked his honed extremities against the glass, adding his marks to the countless gouges left by other specimens who had been similarly transformed into heinous caricatures of their former selves. Despite his appearance, he still retained his human intelligence, at least for the moment; an agonized comprehension radiated from his serpentine eyes.

"The rage you feel now... hold onto it, embrace it," Haggar said to him harshly.

Slowly, the Lyran's eyes began to dull. As this last vestige of humanity was leaving him only to be replaced with a bestial haze, she spoke to him a final time.

"Our enemies are now your enemies; take your vengeance upon them."

With a piercing screech, the monster turned around, his attention captured by another sound. An opening in the wall that made up one side of the chamber began to slide open. Enticed by the smell of fresh blood that soon wafted in, the beast shuffled through it and into yet another enclosure that led to the robeast pens.

Through the twisted marriage that was science and the occult, robeasts could be created in a number of different ways - mechanically, organically, or a combination of the two. However, organic robeasts, ones that were converted slaves, were sometimes the strongest and fiercest of them all. Although they lost almost all sense of their former humanity, they held onto their rage, the very last thing they could recall feeling. This particular type of robeast was not as mindful of its masters as the others were, but they were still a powerful weapon; all that had to be done was to drop them in the middle of a populace and let them run wild until they were snuffed out, either by the planet that was being attacked or by Haggar herself out of necessity when victory was achieved. There was no regaining control of a robeast like that; like a runaway flame, it raged brightly and uncontrollably until it simply burned itself out. More could always be made.

When the fledgling robeast finally exited the portal and the massive door slid shut behind it, Haggar bent down and stroked Coba, the familiar arching his blue body and hissing appreciatively. Against her will, the former slave's last intelligible utterance reentered the witch's mind.

..._SHAYA!_...

It was undoubtedly a name. Who was this Shaya, though, that they would be the very last being the Lyran would think of before his humanity was extinguished? He had mentioned a wife and children. Was this Shaya then his woman?

Straightening back up, Haggar sighed with a pained wistfulness. The man had been chattel, but he must have loved this female immensely if she had been his last thought.

..._I wonder what that feels like, to be the beloved of someone... to have them feel for you as you do for them_...

With one last shuddering breath, the sorceress discarded the errant thought as swiftly as it had come upon her. Grabbing her staff, she proceeded to pad towards the entrance of her laboratory. She had the impending resurrection of a legend to quash; there was no time for her to think of a love that she knew now never was.


	5. The End of Us, Ch 5

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**The End of Us, Ch. 5**

As Haggar carefully seated herself upon one of the comfortable command chairs on-board the _Vase'er_, the flagship of the First Fleet, she glanced discreetly at the figure situated across from her. He did not seem to notice her momentary scrutiny, and so continued to gaze down at the bridge situated below them, where technicians scurried about performing their duties.

Like most ethnic variations of the Drule race, his skin possessed a blue cast to it, but his was darker in color, almost rivaling her own; her duskiness was a result of the burns she sustained from striking a mortal blow to Voltron, however, while his was apparently natural. His flesh was also smooth in texture in comparison to other individuals, such as Emperor Zarkon, whose skin had an almost reptilian quality. Large ears swooped upwards from a face that looked like it was born of stone, while short-cropped hair the same shade as his flesh hugged his scalp. He possessed a high forehead, which a distinctive ridge ran up until it met his indiscernible hairline. His most obvious feature, however, was the flame-colored cybernetic eye that flashed from his stoic countenance, a testament to some past traumatic injury that must have occurred to him; in this, she felt a slight kinship with him. All in all, he was actually rather handsome.

As if sensing he was under observation, the officer swung his head around and stared balefully at Haggar, his remaining eye glittering unsympathetically.

"Is there something you wish to consult with me, Lady Haggar?"

"Hardly, General Yurak," she replied coolly as she ran her palm across the thick fur of her familiar, who had jumped up into her lap, "I was merely thinking of the plan of action we shall take once we arrive on Planet Arus."

His expression did not falter. "There is no need for that. The course of action we shall implement has already been decided upon."

Haggar narrowed her eyes slightly at this remark. "This was not discussed with me. This mission was to be commanded by the both of us."

A patronizing smirk tugged ever so slightly at the corner of Yurak's mouth. "While I am sure that what you have in mind is commendable, the men have already been informed of what needs to be done. I have several years of experience in directing troops, Lady Haggar; you will better serve the emperor by simply focusing upon how you will release the robeast from stasis."

Every positive thing she had thought about him immediately evaporated.

The sorceress gritted her teeth at the chauvinist statement, but managed to smile thinly at the officer. "As you say, General, you are an experienced war veteran, whereas all I have done is manufacture weapons and advise the emperor for his entire reign. I am entirely aware of your prowess on the battlefield, but you may still find my ideas helpful."

In reply, Yurak merely chortled, motioning frivolously in the air with an artificial arm and hand; the very prospect of the decrepit witch commanding anything was simply ludicrous.

"I've run the scheme through simulators and have consulted my advisors; the plan is flawless. It is only a matter of time before your mistake is rectified."

Haggar glared stonily at him for a moment before she sneered, "Well, then, what do I know? I'm sure this plan will go off without a hitch!"

At this, the general could only smirk in a superior manner. Considering his interaction with the sorceress at an end, he abruptly stood up and brushed some light debris off of his uniform.

Assuming a dramatic pose, he roared out authoritatively, "Set course for Planet Arus!"

* * *

><p>"What is the meaning of this?!" Zarkon bellowed venemously, rising up from his throne, "Why have you failed me yet again, Yurak?"<p>

The prostrate form of the general on the ground gave off no indication of fear from below the dais the emperor stood upon.

"Forgive me, Sire," Yurak uttered clearly as he examined the floor closely, "Fortune favored the Voltron Force this day."

"Excuses!" the monarch raved, baring his teeth as he pointed at him threateningly, "You continue to fail me time and time again! They have all five of the Lions already! What do you have to say to that?!"

The commanding officer of the _Vase'er_ remained in his kneeling position, but he looked respectively up at his sovereign. "I have achieved countless victories for you up until this point, Sire. The only thing that is different this time is the fact that the Lady Haggar and I have shared authority in the mission to destroy the mecha. Perhaps she did not see her planning all of the way through."

The witch's gaze sharpened on the disgraced general immediately. Zarkon whirled around and glowered at his advisor, his visage flushing darkly with anger.

"Is this true, Haggar?!"

An arrogant half-smile appeared on Yurak's features from beneath the throne, and he did little to conceal it when he noticed Haggar's basilisk glare. A humble expression slid across, however, whenever the monarch's hard stare refocused on him.

Haggar rose from her seat and clutched her gnarled staff tightly as Coba hissed angrily at her feet. Inwardly, she shook with fury at Yurak's treachery and the emperor's seeming readiness to believe anything that confirmed his suspicions, but she managed to keep her face impassive.

"It is true that we both technically shared responsibility for this mission, Sire," she replied bitingly, "However, General Yurak displayed a flagrant disregard for my advice on more than one occasion. Despite the disrespect he has shown me, I have continued to try and give him counsel, but he has ignored it all in favor of pursuing his own ideals. I would like to remind you, Sire, that I advised you before your reign even began and have very rarely steered you wrong."

Zarkon's expression was still severe, but he winced briefly at her words, as if reminded of an unpleasant memory. In a motion that was almost undetectable, he gave the briefest of nods at Haggar, which flooded her with conflicting emotions.

..._He has misled me my whole life, but he can acknowledge the truth of a situation, at least_...

The witch decided to take this opportunity and run with it.

"I create my organic robeasts from only the strongest of slaves and test them against each other, Sire; I choose only the strongest of them all to use for your conquests," she continued smoothly, "They are powerful, but they are only as effective as whoever commands the mission. If the general fails to deploy the robeast in the proper manner, or does not provide the correct backup that is required, then of course it is entirely possible that the prospect of failure may enter the equation. I have stated and proven that my creations are immensely powerful, but I have never claimed that they were infallible. Since General Yurak deemed me fit only to release the robeasts from stasis, then I would have to say that his arrogance and incompetent mishandling of your assets are what cost you your rightful victory."

At this, Zarkon's furious scowl turned back on the kneeling officer. For the first time, sweat began to bead on Yurak's forehead, although his expression betrayed nothing.

"In fact, I would say that his disregard for me was also an outright lack of respect for you, Sire" Haggar articulated gleefully, goading him on, "He does not seem to think you know how to win a battle. Perhaps he thinks you only ascended your throne through luck rather than because it was divine providence."

"S-Sire, this is not true, I assure you!" Yurak quaked at Zarkon's murderous gaze.

"SILENCE!" the emperor thundered, throwing his pointed scepter at the Drule officer.

To his credit, Yurak did not budge, despite the fact that the scepter quivered dangerously in the ground inches away from him. The sorceress observed the general's unmanning with an almost unrestrained relish, her smirk hidden behind her cowl. Before the monarch could do anything else, however, she bowed her head and spoke once more.

"Sire, if you will permit me, I have developed another plan to bring down Voltron. It is true, and unfortunate, that all five Lions have been recovered. It is known that all five are required to form the mecha, which represents a single point of failure. We might have been going about this in the wrong way - we need not waste resources like we have been in the past. The space explorers who escaped are five in number; if just one is killed, then there is no one left with the knowledge to pilot the fifth Lion. I propose going to Arus, alone, in order to assassinate the space explorer who would pilot it. I will bring a robeast with me, of course, but my powers will be enough to get the job done."

Zarkon paused momentarily, rubbing his scaled chin with a clawed hand. He paced a few steps, his mantle trailing behind him, as he considered her offering.

"Very well, Haggar, I will permit you to execute this plan, as it frankly inspires more confidence than any of the schemes ever developed by that worm," Yurak visibly recoiled in his servile position at this, "This may actually succeed where you have failed in the past. Make no mistake, though, Haggar, if you fail me again, the consequences will be most severe."

"Thank you, Sire," she stated evenly, bowing in order to conceal the brief anger that washed over her countenance .

"As for you," Zarkon uttered brutally, focusing on the prostrate general, "Consider yourself fortunate that I do not kill you for allowing the Voltron Force to recover all of the Lions."

"You are a merciful emperor, Sire," Yurak replied hollowly to the floor, gritting his teeth, "What fate then is to be in store for me?"

"Administrative leave, one month, no pay," the despot spat out malevolently as he sat back down on his throne, "Upon your return, if you fail me again, you will be relieved of your command and then banished. If I find you undermining me at all in any way, shape, or form, then you will be executed. You are dismissed."

The Drule officer rose stiffly from his kneeling position and bowed, his eye implant flashing savagely up at the witch. Haggar shot him back a challenging look.

..._You made a mistake in betraying me, Yurak_...

As he spun around crisply and departed the throne room, the witch smiled enigmatically once more.


	6. The End of Us, Ch 6

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**The End of Us, Ch. 6**

With a hydraulic hiss, the hatch of Haggar's transport craft slowly opened. Awakened by the noise, the witch began to gingerly stretch out her bony limbs while simultaneously taking in her immediate surroundings with her harsh yellow stare. It was late in the night, and the full moon overhead highlighted the rock and stone of the narrow, isolated crag her craft had landed in.

..._Good, we didn't land too far off course_...

Taking hold of her staff, she hauled herself out of the minute ship, which bore a striking resemblance to a Terran burial casket. The vessel was a little unnerving to be in, but its convenient size made it ideal for operations that required stealth. A moment later, Coba hopped out after her, tail twitching impatiently.

"Patience, Coba," Haggar cracked a smile at her familiar's feline behavior before stooping to pet him, "We will experience action soon enough. You and I both have parts to play in this endeavor."

The blue cat simply meowed and wound himself around her legs, but his eyes glittered with an uncanny awareness. Haggar rose back up and observed the second transport craft that was lodged in the ground next to her own. This one contained the latest robeast she had created, another organic creature in stasis, which she had brought as backup should anything in her primary scheme go awry. Unlike that misogynist and arrogant piece of _va'ashta _Yurak, she actually acknowledged the idea that sometimes things could go wrong. As a consequence, she was more adaptable and better prepared for challenges when they arose.

Satisfied, Haggar patted the outside of her vessel two times; a moment later, the hatch began to close. She then gestured in the air with her free hand, causing a supernatural grey mist to materialize above them and slowly fall down. The ships began to fade from view, protected by her cloaking spell; they had arrived without detection, and she intended to keep it that way.

Turning around, the sorceress proceeded to hobble in the darkness towards the nearby cave entrance, which ultimately led to a forgotten section of the royal crypts below the newly rebuilt Castle of Lions.

* * *

><p>In the end, Haggar's plan was executed successfully; she had managed to isolate and dispatch the pilot of Blue Lion, the Terran identified by Doom intel as Sven Holgersson. The pilot had been brave enough to confront her, but had been misled enough to believe that he could actually defeat her on his own without any form of backup.<p>

..._Little fool! Did you have any idea who you were trifling with?_..., she thought spitefully.

The mission had gone so seamlessly that Haggar had been able to once again conceal her presence and stealthily find her way back to her ship under the cover of darkness in the crypts. She had not even had to release the robeast as a distraction in order to achieve her objective, and so kept the monstrosity in stasis to be used again another day.

_...I would like to see the not so illustrious general top this..._

With a mirthful twist of her withered lips, Haggar observed the hatch of her transport craft slowly closing before she proceeded to enter the coordinates for the _Vase'er_, which was now under the temporary command of another officer and conveniently hidden away in a nearby asteroid field.

* * *

><p>The victory was short-lived. In a surprising move, the timid Princess of Arus, who had somehow survived the genocide of her people, demonstrated the knowledge to fly Blue Lion and so became its new pilot.<p>

..._Not so helpless now, I see_..., Haggar mused.

The Arusians were able to rally under the banner of Voltron once more when Yurak, newly returned from his disciplinary punishment for his past failures, led an attack that should have been the decisive killing blow to that backwater planet's rebellion, ending it once and for all. Although the failure was not her fault, as she had succeeded in ending Holgersson, like she had set out to do, she was still relieved to hear that the return of the dreaded mecha had happened under the general's watch. As a result, Zarkon focused all of his rage on Yurak, rather than his advisor, for failing to see that another, who just so happened to be King Alfor's daughter, existed who could fly the mystical ship that harnessed the elemental power of water.

Any defeat for Planet Doom was, of course, undesired, but Haggar took a vindictive pleasure in the idea that the man who had dared to dishonor and betray her was going to suffer for his trespasses against her.

* * *

><p>An authoritative knock on her laboratory door sent Haggar shuffling towards it, the sound of her staff echoing as it hit the floor with each step. With sharpened fingertips, she punched in a code on a nearby datapad that would allow entry to whomever was behind the door. As it slid open, her eyes widened in shock before she bowed deeply before the figure before her.<p>

The Drule male towered over her imposingly, although he did not quite possess the dimensions of his father due to his mixed heritage; despite this, he was still massive. His flesh was azure-colored and smooth, the human blood in him softening the harshness of his sire's features. A high-ranking officer's uniform draped his impressive physique, while a fearsome war helm crowned a wide, intelligent brow. A river of hair, so platinum blonde it was white in hue, flowed down from the helmet to his mid-back. His bearing was one of a person who had never known defeat, one who knew it was his destiny to rule.

"Your Imperial Highness, it has been a long time," Haggar stated respectfully as she arose.

The prince imperial inclined his head ever so slightly towards the witch as a small smile played across his sculptured features. "Lady Haggar."

The sorceress immediately felt flustered, but she carefully schooled her countenance into an expression that was unreadable.

"You honor me, Prince Lotor, but there is no need for formalities between us. What brings you to my facilities?"

"I returned not too long ago from my campaign, and I wanted to pay my respects," Lotor replied, his tone deepening in concern as he entered her facilities, "I have heard some distressing rumors."

The witch nodded as the door slid shut behind him, not denying the allegation.

"They are probably true, Sire. Planet Arus is in revolt and threatens our presence in the Azure Quadrant. Its people have recovered a powerful weapon called Voltron, thanks in part to the ineptness of General Yurak. We were given joint command of the mission to destroy the mecha, but Yurak blatantly ignored my counsel and usurped my authority in order to pursue his own plans in reconquering Arus. He wasted countless assets and failed to follow the emperor's decrees to the letter while daring to blame me for his failures; for this he was punished. I disabled Voltron once more by dispatching one of its pilots, and Yurak led one more attack; this plan should have been the death knell for the Arusian rebellion, since it is not possible to form Voltron without all five of its components. However, they were somehow able to find a pilot to replace the one that I killed. As a result, Voltron was able to rise again and send the general back home in disgrace. Your father is about to strip Yurak of his titles and command before he banishes him for his transgressions, Sire."

Haggar could barely contain the glee in her voice when she uttered her last statement. The prince quickly took this in as he nodded once more.

"I am familiar with General Yurak and his practices on the battlefield; he delivered several lectures at the Drule Academy. The man is a pompous, arrogant fool who thinks overly much of himself and not nearly enough of his foes... Tell me more about this weapon that plagues my father so and threatens to destabilize his empire."

"Voltron is a gigantic mecha create by both science and magic on Planet Arus long ago, Sire," the witch explained, the facts burned into her memory after so many years, "I personally saw to the destruction of the mecha, as you may have heard, but it turned out that rather than being a single entity, Voltron was actually composed of five elements combined together to form a powerful whole; after the explosion, Voltron broke up into its individual components before crashing back down to Arus. This was what granted your father the opportunity to finally crush the planet. Any and all personnel with knowledge of the mecha who could be found were executed, and that included the royal family. Despite this, one of the royal children, now the heir to the Arusian throne, managed to survive the culling and was able to establish contact with the Alliance and summon aid. Galaxy Garrison sent out five space explorers to recover Voltron, if it were possible, but we were able to capture them before they had the chance to do so. Before they could be dispatched, however, the incompetent guards your father saw fit to watch over them allowed them to slip through their bumbling fingers and make it to Arus. As a result, they were able to resurrect not only the broken body of Voltron, but also the Castle of Lions. Planet Arus now stands as a beacon of hope in the Denubian Galaxy for all who might wish to free themselves from the reign of Doom; it must be retaken if the empire is to survive."

Lotor paced back and forth for a moment as he considered all he had been told, the steps of his booted feet resounding within the large room.

"Well, then, it is obvious what action we need to take. This should not be too difficult; from what I understand, Planet Arus has not yet recovered from my father's attacks, so their resources should still be stretched thin to the point of nonexistence. With the exception of a tenuous affiliation with the Alliance, Arus has no compacts or accords with any other planets, so there should be no one of concern coming to their aid. Most of the Denubian Galaxy is already in our grasp, leaving them surrounded on almost all sides. We can set up a blockade in order to prevent anyone else from leaving or entering the planet. The mecha sounds like a formidable weapon, but if it could be taken down once, it can be done so again. I am guessing that the pilot who replaced the one you took out is still new, and that means they are inexperienced; as such, they are the weak point of Voltron, and if we get rid of them, then there is no Voltron, and our path lies clear."

In just a matter of words, the Drule prince revealed himself to be a brilliant tactician. He was able to pinpoint and take advantage of specific vulnerabilities rather than just taking a ham-handed approach at winning a battle. Brute strength may be enough to achieve victory at times, but not always. Gathering intel and strategizing was not only effective, but they also conserved resources, which aided in attaining further conquests to expand the Doom Empire.

The sorceress dipped her head in acknowledgement before answering. "Of course, Sire. You are exactly who Planet Doom needs right now. I trust you will have need of my services?"

Lotor paused in his movements and smiled. "Of course, Haggar. I have never forgotten what you have done for me and mine, nor do I forget the successes you have achieved where others have failed."

The witch returned his expression before bowing once more, "I thank you, Sire. I will not disappoint."

The prince offered his arm to Haggar as he addressed her. "Would you care to accompany me in witnessing General Yurak receive his just rewards for his stellar accomplishments?"

A pleased look that belied a vengeful delight crossed Haggar's countenance.

"It would be my honor, Sire," she cackled before taking his proffered limb.

Lotor smirked at her expression. "I suspect what may happen, and we should keep an open mind; the fool might still serve a purpose."

The witch's mind whirled at the possibilities; yes, he was correct - Yurak just might still be useful... She returned his knowing look.

The two then stepped out of the laboratory and towards the officer's public shaming.


	7. The End of Us, Ch 7

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**The End of Us, Ch. 7**

Haggar released her hold upon Lotor's arm when they finally arrived at the war room. The two of them swept a respectful bow to the emperor before seating themselves on either side of the monarch's ornate chair. Below and around them, the nobility of Planet Doom stood next to their own seats, speaking quietly amongst themselves; they immediately reclined back, however, at a nod from Zarkon - the hearing was about to commence.

"General Yurak, you were placed in charge of the mission alongside Haggar to recapture Planet Arus and bring it back into the fold," Zarkon intoned coldly as he pointed accusingly towards the officer, who was kneeling once more below the raised dais the emperor was sitting upon, "Despite my decrees, you ignored my wishes and pursued your own plans in recapturing Arus without even bothering to consult with my advisor. This arrogance resulted in many failures, as well as squandered resources that should have used to achieve victories."

Staring at the harsh lighting that reflected and danced upon the onyx floor, Yurak said nothing, but his heart was pounding at the threat building up in the brutal despot's words. The fact that his half-breed son, who sported an unsettling smirk, had returned and was sitting at his right-hand side was also an ill sign.

"Despite your subverting my will, I was generous and spared your pitiful life," Zarkon continued icily, "I even gave you another chance to redeem yourself, and yet you still failed me. I warned you that if you came back to Doom again empty-handed, that I would strip you of your honors and banish you. What do you have to say for yourself before I declare your sentence, Yurak?"

The disgraced general flinched, sweat pouring down the back of his dark-blue neck. This couldn't be happening to him... He had devoted his whole life, and body, to serving the empire, and to witness this happening, especially only a few years before what should have been his retirement with full honors, an illustrious end to a distinguished career, was unreal.

Swallowing a knot that was rapidly forming in his throat and threatened to render him speechless, he looked up at his sovereign. "You have indeed been generous, Sire; I acknowledge that a worse fate could have been bestowed upon me. As for the past incidents in question, I did not trust the witch's ability to lead... but everything I have done has been for your glory and the glory of your empire."

Zarkon narrowed his eyes in anger at this statement, while matching secret smiles briefly flitted across the countenances of the witch and the prince imperial.

"You claim to have the welfare of my empire in mind, yet your very actions have threatened to destabilize it!" the monarch roared at him, his large knuckles whitening as he gripped the armrests of his seat tightly, "I will not let you destroy what I have spent my life creating! You have not been following my will, but rather your own! By rejecting the Lady Haggar, you have rejected me! Do you question my judgment?! Do you think me somehow unfit for this throne?!"

Yurak trembled visibly in his humility; what the Emperor of Doom was suggesting amounted to nothing more than treason, a crime punishable by death.

"N-Never, Sire! The Gods ordained _you_ as the herald of this glorious empire! The Gods are infallible!"

Zarkon was still furious, but this display of groveling servility apparently calmed him somewhat, as a wintry smile now graced his mottled visage.

"You are correct, Yurak, the Gods _are_ infallible, and you will have the rest of your life to ponder this fact in exile. Just remember, I gave you another chance," the despot pronounced with a chilling finality as he stood back up, "I, Emperor Zarkon, strip you, General Yurak, of your rank and all associated privileges. No more will you command my forces. I banish you permanently from Planet Doom, and any reentry into empire space will result in your immediate execution. Do I make myself clear, Yurak, once honored general in my service?"

Haggar clenched her staff tightly as she observed her foe's public castration with an almost unholy zeal. The former officer quaked in his prostrate position, all military stoicism gone.

"S-Sire, what you are suggesting is tantamount to me leaving the Denubian Galaxy!"

"It is not what I am suggesting, but what I am decreeing!" Zarkon spat at him poisonously, "I do not tolerate failures, nor having my orders ignored! Now leave before I have you beheaded and your body cast down into the Pit of Skulls like I should have done weeks ago!"

The emperor moved as if to cast his sharp scepter at the offending Drule once again, but his son abruptly rose up from his seat and placed a hand on the royal emblem, preventing the monarch from completing the motion.

"Wait, Father... I believe there is a way to not only destroy Voltron once and for all, but also for Yurak to redeem himself."

Zarkon glowered at his progeny for speaking out of turn, but stayed his hand.

"I will forgive you this interruption, my son, not only because you have returned to me undefeated, but because you are also my heir. For this, I trust your judgment, and will grant you an opportunity to implement what you have in mind."

Lotor bowed towards his father apologetically before turning to the tremulous body of Yurak, a calculating look in his felinoid eyes.

"Well, Yurak, how would you like to regain your honor?"

The desperate look in the shamed general's face was the only answer the Drule prince needed.

* * *

><p>Lotor stared impassively at the prone form of Yurak from within the witch's laboratory. The former officer was held back by restraints against the metallic wall inside of the conversion chamber, stripped of all clothing and with needles piercing his dark flesh. Haggar had an almost alarming smile on her face as she narrowed her eyes at his shivering body.<p>

"I want to ask you one more time, Yurak, if this is truly what you desire," the prince spoke to him through the thick glass.

Fear played across the features of the discredited officer, but he shook his head back and forth feverishly. "No, no! I must do this! Without my honor, I am nothing!"

"Very well, then."

Lotor nodded, and then turned to the sorceress with a sly half-smile. Haggar returned the same look before initiating a sequence on the nearby console that would begin the flow of the substance used to create robeasts through the translucent tubing that penetrated Yurak's body.

"I know how dangerous robeasts are, Lady Haggar, but will this be... painful?" Yurak asked hollowly from within the enclosure as he watched the fluid creeping closer towards him.

"Oh, no, this won't hurt at all. All you will feel is an incredible rush of power," the sorceress reassured him.

Moments later, a terrible scream of agony ripped through the facilities.

* * *

><p>The scheme that Lotor had designed almost succeeded. He had baited the Voltron Force in order to separate their numbers, and their commander, Keith Kogane, had succumbed to his taunts of cowardice. The prince had taken advantage of the human's preconceived notions of Terran chivalry and cast him down into a deep and isolated canyon; if Kogane was not dead, then he was at least critically wounded, in no shape whatsoever to pilot a Lion. It was at this moment that Yurak's monstrous new body was released from stasis, virtually erupting out of the small craft he had been hibernating in.<p>

It was brilliant in its simplicity - without the Black Lion pilot, there was no Black Lion, and therefore, no Voltron. The remaining Lions, one of which was piloted by a novice flyer, were formidable, but nowhere near as powerful as they were when united into their whole. As a result, they provided little challenge for Yurak, who had nothing to lose and everything to gain, in his new form. Just as he stood to crush them, however, Black Lion had unexpectedly appeared on the scene. All five of the Lions were able to join and form the robotic guardian shortly before dispatching the disgraced general.

Yurak's death was hardly a loss, but a defeat almost never bode well.

In this case, however, the dishonored officer was able to be used as a scapegoat. Lotor cunningly reminded his father of Yurak's recent failures, and so redirected the emperor's legendary rage towards the officer, now conveniently departed.

* * *

><p>Haggar was in her laboratory when Lotor came calling upon her once more. She bowed as the door slid open and admitted the Drule prince before returning to the task she had been laboring over.<p>

"My Prince, the hour is late," the sorceress stated noncommittally over her experiment, arching a non-existent eyebrow, "Is there anything I may assist you with?"

Shaking his head, Lotor merely removed his heavy helm and placed it on a nearby work surface. He then leaned against the wall, his expression unreadable. Haggar waited until he finally spoke.

"As we discussed, I observed the battle while Yurak fought. I have confirmed the fact that Voltron is nothing without all five of the Lions, and the amount of people who know how to fly them are limited in number. If destroying Voltron as a whole is not a viable option, then taking out just one of the Lions will hinder the mecha's ability to form. Failing that, dispatching the personnel, or even just one of them, who have the knowledge to pilot the Lions will similarly stop the mecha from forming. Even if Voltron does form, however, there should be a way to reverse-engineer whatever dictates the unification of the Lions and stop it, thus separating them."

Haggar carefully placed what she was working on back onto the table and nodded at him.

"I also noticed that Voltron possesses the technology to generate advanced weaponry from pure energy; we must either obtain or destroy this technology, namely because we do not have it, but also because doing so will prevent it from falling into the Alliance's hands," the prince imperial continued as he focused on the witch, "I do not think that you need me to explain why that would be bad for us."

Coba jumped up on the table and began to purr when the sorceress stroked his cobalt fur.

"Of course not, Sire," she smiled mirthfuly, impressed.

"The last item of note is the weapon that the robot uses to deliver its final blow... what did they call it? The 'Blazing Sword'?" Lotor questioned, rubbing his chin with a gloved hand, "Either way, failing to disable Voltron, the Lions, or the pilots, if there were a way to interrupt the formation of the Sword, then defeating the mecha should be relatively easy. The other weaponry it uses does not appear to have the same effect on robeasts as the Sword does. I am not too sure why exactly, but it may be something about the particular energy that the Blazing Sword is comprised of."

Haggar inclined her head in movement of affirmation. "Your time at the Academy appears to have served you well."

A bitter smile crossed the prince's lips and was gone. "Perhaps... I can say with confidence that Yurak has also served us well."

This was true; Yurak's demise proved a convenient opportunity for reconnaissance while also cleaning up nicely in the event of a loss. The former general had indeed served his purpose well.

It was at this point that Lotor's demeanor faltered slightly, as if a chink had appeared in the armor of his self-assuredness.

The witch frowned, noticing this before she asked, "Is there anything bothering you, Sire?"

He crossed his arms, an incomprehensible look in his cat-like eyes.

"Before Black Lion arrived, I had flown back to the canyon that I threw Kogane into to make sure that he was dead. Somehow, Blue Lion had managed to escape Yurak and got to the area before me. Its pilot attempted to prevent me from killing Kogane, and I didn't fight back; I let it go after the commander found his beast of burden and left."

"You let them go, Prince Lotor?" Haggar asked sharply, "You are the reason we lost?"

"It wasn't a complete loss, Haggar!" Zarkon's heir snapped back, stung, "We were able to gather some valuable information at no expense."

"Save a loss of face," the witch muttered lowly, almost afraid of the answer, "Why did you let them go, Sire?"

"The new pilot for Blue Lion..."

..._Princess Allura_...

Almost right away, Haggar realized she should have seen Alfor's daughter as a problem, in more ways than one. With her long, blonde hair and oceanic eyes, the Arusian bore a striking resemblance to another woman from the her distant past. Unbidden, a name resurfaced in her memory.

..._Talurae_...

The sorceress shuddered inwardly and dug her clawed fingertips into her palms. The human who had taken away any chance of happiness for her...

..._No, that's not true, and I see that now_..., she thought sadly, _...Are'es never loved me... He misled me, but he has also helped my power grow and has treated me fairly... but he has never loved me_...

The woman who had briefly been Empress of Doom had been executed when Lotor was still a young child. As if to soothe some grievous hurt, all records and holos of her had been expunged by Zarkons's agents. No mention was ever made of her again, a grand play put on by the whole of Planet Doom.

Lotor continued speaking, unseeing of the haunted look in the witch's eyes. "The Princess of Arus... how did she survive the purge of the royal family?"

She shook her head to clear away the unwanted thoughts. "King Alfor had a plan set into motion for when he met his demise. He had whatever members of his family that could be saved, which turned out to only be his youngest daughter, evacuated and secreted away into the labyrinth of caves that riddle the the surface of Arus like a bad cheese. From there, she stayed hidden until she came of age, and then her people managed to contact Galaxy Garrison for assistance in recovering Voltron."

The dark prince worried at his bottom lip with pointed canines as he took this in. "I don't know why, but she reminds me of someone... I feel I know her from somewhere. Do you know of whom I might be speaking of?"

"I am sorry, Sire, but I do not," Haggar replied coolly, grabbing for her staff in a business-like manner, "It is probably just because of a pretty face, and nothing more. You have a number of slaves who look just like her."

"You are right as, always, Haggar, but she seems different somehow," Lotor removed himself from the wall, sighing, "At any rate, if we are to focus on any of the pilots, we should probably target her. She is still new, and so is Voltron's main weakness."

Even as he said his last statement, his felinoid eyes glinted with calculation and something else entirely, which the sorceress pretended not to see.

"Very well, Sire," she uttered guardedly, her saffron eyes hooded, "We shall plan accordingly. Is there anything else I may do for you?"

The Drule prince straightened out, still thoughtful, but bowed his head slightly. "No. Thank you, Haggar, your counsel was most helpful."

Grabbing his helmet and tucking it into the crook of his arm, he then departed the laboratory, leaving the witch alone with her endless experiments.


	8. The End of Us, Ch 8

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**The End of Us, Ch. 8**

Despite the initial loss since the prince imperial's return, hopes remained high in the Doom court that Voltron would soon be defeated and Planet Arus would fall once again. After all, hadn't Lotor never lost a battle before? Was he not the prodigy that had graduated from the Drule Academy four years early? Most alumni arrived at the distinguished institution upon reaching 15 years of age and studied up until their twenty-fifth year; an exception was made in the prince's case due to both his station and natural aptitude at war. At age 12, he had been sent away and swiftly graduated at the young age of eighteen. He had had no time to rest, however; almost immediately, he had been sent back out with a fleet, his first command, to conquer new territory for the Doom Empire. Eight more years had passed before he had been able to finally return home.

Although he possessed a very promising military career and perfect track record of victories in the past, Lotor unbelievably lost a second time to Voltron, then a third, and then a fourth. His defeats at the hands of the robotic guardian were slowly beginning to build up. The blame was almost always able to be shifted towards a specific cause - a faulty piece of equipment, troops who had not been at their post, neglect - and so the prince was able to avoid Zarkon's wrath, but his father's patience was beginning to fray. The ruler of Doom was attempting to remain calm with his only legitimate heir in this inexplicable new phenomenon, but this was becoming increasingly difficult to do.

It was this thought Haggar had in mind when she knocked on the entryway to the prince's private quarters. A moment later, the door slid open, and the sorceress was greeted by a young female slave who was obviously of mixed ancestry. Her skin was pale with a tinge of azure to it, and delicate ears tapered out to points from under an ornate coif of raven hair. Large hazel eyes gazed demurely downward, while a small hand tugged ineffectively at a skirt that was long, yet still indecent with its high slits and almost translucent fabric. The rest of her ensemble similarly left very little of her slender body to the imagination. Without saying a word, the slave bowed deeply and indicated with an elegant motion of her hand where the witch was supposed to proceed. Nodding curtly at her, Haggar paced with her staff, Coba in tow, towards the indicated direction.

Around a corner, she soon spotted the prince lounging on a comfortable couch, clad in a dark robe over loose pants and a glass of some colored substance, presumably alcoholic in nature, in a large hand. Another slave, an attractive humanoid with light red flesh and amethyst eyes, massaged his shoulders, while still another, a blonde human with blue eyes, played the _nuu'at_, a Drule harp, nearby. Both of them were dressed similarly to the first slave. The music that was being created was peaceful and calming, the sound blending into background like trickling water.

Lotor regarded the witch momentarily with his golden gaze. "I was expecting you, Haggar. What is it that you wished to discuss with me?"

The sorceress bowed before she replied, "Thank you for agreeing to see me at this hour, Sire. I wish to talk with you about a private matter."

The son of Zarkon nodded before addressing his slaves, "Mavu, Naya, that is enough for now. You are both dismissed."

The two slaves bowed deeply to both him and Haggar before quickly disappearing into another room. As they were leaving, Lotor stood up and loosened the ties of his robe in order to tie it tighter, momentarily revealing a flash of azure-hued musculature. He padded with bare feet over to a sidebar where a number of bottles were kept, grabbing one in particular that matched the color of his beverage.

After topping off his glass and returning the bottle, he gestured momentarily towards the rest of his collection. "Would you care for a drink?"

"No, thank you, Sire. One of my vows was to abstain from alcohol and other like substances," Haggar replied, waving away the offer with a polite smile.

"Very well," the prince intoned as he sat back down, "Speak."

Haggar slowly exhaled before she seated herself on a nearby chair, her staff resting between her skinny knees.

"My Prince, I am concerned," she answered carefully, "Before you came back to Doom, everyone had heard of your victories and cheered for you. Since you have returned, however, Voltron has continued to beat back any advances we have attempted against Arus."

Lotor's countenance darkened slightly, his lips twisting into petulant frown. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing, Sire," the sorceress said quickly, "I am merely worried and wanted to know if there is anything I might be able to help you with."

The Drule prince immediately sighed and set his drink down on a nearby sidetable.

"I realize that I have come back in defeat one too many times," he articulated quietly, raking a hand through his pale hair, "I have just been distracted; it will not last, I promise."

"What has been on your mind, Sire?" Haggar queried, knowing all too well what the answer would be; he had not been particularly discreet concerning his growing attraction towards the Arusian princess.

"Nothing in particular...," he trailed off, grabbing for his glass again distractedly.

Seeing that he was going to keep up this charade of bewilderment, the sorceress decided to arrive at her point.

"My Prince, I believe I know what, or rather whom, is occupying your thoughts," she stated firmly, carefully smoothing out a wrinkle her drab-colored robe, "I speak of this only because I am concerned for you. Your performance is being affected, and, to be honest, you do not seem to be as focused on things as you usually are. Either kill the girl or take her as a slave. You cannot afford to be conducting yourself in the way that you have been lately. The more victories Voltron achieves, the weaker we all look, and the braver the downtrodden will become. I do not think you need me to elaborate on how this is detrimental."

Lotor immediately glared at her, but soon slowly leaned back and closed his eyes, a sardonic smile playing across his face. He reopened his eyes and gazed into his beverage, rotating it gently and watching the fluid slide around the sides of the glass.

"I guess I can always count on you to tell me what I need to hear, rather than what I want," he laughed softly, "As I said, this will not last. I will destroy her Lion, enslave her, get her out of my system, and annihilate Voltron once and for all. I know better than to jeopardize my birthright and my people, especially over someone as trivial as that woman."

Haggar examined him skeptically, but nodded her head. "I am glad to hear that, Sire. It is important that you learn to separate your emotions from your duties."

The Prince Imperial of Doom drank deeply from his glass before looking at her, grinning ferally as he did so. "Duly noted, Haggar. This won't happen again."

The sorceress lowered her head in deference towards him before rising again. "It was not my desire to chastise or embarrass you, Sire, as that is not my place. I am merely looking out for your best interests."

"Very well, Haggar... I thank you for your honesty," Lotor replied in a voice that was neither angry nor jovial, an odd half-smile on his lips; he then addressed one of his slaves in a louder tone, "Da'vae, escort Lady Haggar to the door."

The same girl who had allowed Haggar in now respectfully gestured for the witch to follow her. As she proceeded in the slave's wake, she glanced back for a moment at the prince. He had remained seated, and was now focusing intently on his glass, gazing into the crimson liquid as if a million mysteries were contained within.

The sorceress shook her head and sighed, leaving Lotor alone to brood.


	9. The End of Us, Ch 9

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**The End of Us, Ch. 9**

The days came and went, progressing eventually into weeks. The attacks against Arus were mounting, but so were the defeats to the blue planet. The plans developed by Lotor were ingenious and, when run through by Haggar, promised to work, but some crucial aspect of the attack always went awry at the last moment.

Although the prince had listened to the witch's advice, he had only partially heeded it. He had remained determined to achieve victory, but he had failed to keep his emotions from becoming entangled with his battles. The issue was not necessarily that he desired Princess Allura, but that his desire for her was growing as substantial as his desire to defeat Voltron and was gradually beginning to eclipse it. For reasons that he alone could fathom, Lotor ordered his troops, as well as robeasts, to lighten the damage lobbed at Alfor's daughter, or to not aim for her altogether, despite the fact that targeting Blue Lion would have been the best strategic move in terms of crippling the robotic guardian.

As if to prove a point, the prince continued to attempt to capture Allura, but no matter how near he ever came, which was sometimes frighteningly close, it was as if she were some sort of will-o-the-wisp, always dancing just beyond his reach. His reluctance towards physically hurting her only abetted her in her constant escapes. The more the princess evaded his grasp, the more Zarkon's son, already not thinking clearly, became frustrated, skewing his focus upon what should have been his only objective - the destruction of the construct that threatened to weaken Planet Doom's stranglehold upon the Denubian Galaxy.

Although the prince was no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh, he had always been the type to think logically and rarely ever made any rash decisions, but it was as if the Arusian woman held him in thrall. There were not yet many rumors, but they were slowly beginning to circulate.

* * *

><p>The sorceress was within her quarters when she heard a knock at her door. Sensing who it was, and because she was in the midst of scribbling down some important notes upon her writing desk, she gestured carelessly towards the portal with a clawed hand.<p>

"Greetings, Sire," Haggar uttered ambiguously, inclining her head courteously towards the Drule's stalking figure as the door slid back shut.

Lotor did not respond right away. Instead, he abruptly collapsed into a nearby chair and buried his face into his hands. When he eventually lifted his head back up, his appearance shocked the witch, although she gave no indication of her surprise. It was as if he were a different man. His countenance was drawn, his gaze burning into her above dark shadows, while his unkempt mane, normally so carefully groomed, suggested as if he had just arisen from bed despite the unusual hour. What was most noticeable, however, was the air surrounding him; no longer was his demeanor the one of someone who had conquered whole civilizations and was sure of his place in the universe. It was as if his very certainty in himself had been shaken and he did not quite know what to think anymore. He looked as if he was being consumed from within.

"Sire, are you well?" the witch queried, concern etching extra marks into her scarred face.

"I couldn't sleep," Lotor laughed tersely, offering no further explanation as he leaned carelessly back into the seat.

Haggar said nothing, knowing fully well what was tormenting him so. Prompted by her tactful silence, he sighed and decided to disclose his personal demons.

"I keep having the same dream as of late...," he trailed off hollowly, lost in his recollections, "I'm running through a forest, but I don't know where I'm going - all I know is that I have to keep moving. I soon come upon a human woman crucified on one of the trees. She is still alive, but is screaming in pain. I reach out to help her, but weapons fly out from nowhere as if someone is trying to cut me down, and then I wake up in a sweat. The woman is Allura, I know it is, but at the same time, it's as if she's another person... I have a feeling that I should know who it is, but for the life of me, I have no idea. I've had a variation of this dream before, although I don't recall most of the details, when I was returning back to Planet Doom... I just don't know what it all means."

In her mind's eye, the sorceress could still clearly see her - tall, for a human female, slender, uncommonly pale, as if the very vitality had been sapped from her long ago. Whereas Princess Allura's tresses possessed a hint of curl, this specter's hair was straight as an arrow shaft; both, however, were as golden as the star that had long ceased to deliver light through the impermeable layer of dark clouds that permanently swathed the seat of Emperor Zarkon's vast domain. She had possessed blue eyes, like the daughter of Alfor, but hers had held a tragic expression, an air of immutable melancholy surrounding the forlorn woman who had so briefly been empress of the most powerful civilization in the Denubian Galaxy. She had also once favored brighter, sunnier colors for her personal attire, but her husband's preferences soon had her in a wardrobe as dour as his own, thus completing her transformation into that hollow wraith that had haunted Castle Doom's onyx hallways for a short time.

..._Talurae_...

The woman who Haggar, no, Aya'la, had simultaneously hated and pitied, the suffering twin to the witch's own agony, each one of whom would have preferred the other's fate than to continue living their own anguished existence.

"Haggar?"

Lotor's broken voice soon pierced the veil of the witch's thoughts, causing the ghostly apparition to dematerialize back into the shadows of memory from whence it came.

"I don't know what I should do," he bit out harshly as he stood back up, an angry confusion lacing his tone, "I can't keep this up - I am making a mockery of myself and my empire! Each time I take her, I can't bring myself to hurt her, and yet if I don't, she slips through my fingers like so much sand. Each moment she evades me is a taunt to my ability and very manhood, and so I am inflamed even further. I don't know what she has done to me! She is the key to Voltron's downfall, and yet it is as if she is something more. I used to feel confident about how things were supposed to be... and now I don't even know what to think anymore!"

Pacing in his anger over the perplexing irrationality that had come to replace his usual cool logic, Lotor slammed his hand into the wall, his felinoid eyes blazing in frustration.

The sorceress worried at the inside of her cheek with her sharp teeth, a plethora of emotions fluttering within her like a flock of frightened birds. In a way, she understood the prince's attraction to the Arusian tart; he had not exactly made his preference towards human women hidden, and Allura held certain qualities that other humans would call "beautiful." It was obvious to her that part of the hold that the princess held over Zarkon's son was because she bore a strong resemblance to his ill-fated mother, but if he did not even remember her, then how was he able to form a connection between the two, even if only in a latent manner within the depths of his dark conscience? She wished she knew.

Haggar was also gratified to hear that he had not yet lost sight of his ultimate objective, despite having his vision become clouded by a haze of desire and a nameless agitation that not even he knew the source of. She was glad, too, that he had not asked her the meaning of his dream, for she could not find it within herself to willingly lie to him again.

"Sire, all I can do is advise you on the best course of action to take," she replied gently from behind him, reaching up to place her fingertips upon his extended bicep in an attempt to calm him, "The Princess of Arus is the progeny of the sworn enemy of the empire, _your_ empire, and so is your enemy, as well. She is the lynch-pin holding that planet's rebellion together, and sooner or later, she must be dealt with. You must set aside whatever reasons you may have for not wanting her to come to harm; for Planet Doom to thrive, she must suffer. If you cannot bring her under the yoke, then you must kill her. Each time you succumb to this madness she has inspired in you, rumors spread, and each time Voltron is victorious, the flames of insurgency burn brighter against us."

The Prince Imperial of Doom turned his head towards her and glared at her in fury for her brutally austere counsel.

"Madness?" he hissed.

"Yes, madness, for this is exactly what this is," Haggar stated firmly as she straightened out, unfazed by his show of temper, "You acknowledged it yourself, Sire - you are making a mockery of yourself in your desire to bed that girl, and people are starting to talk. If you had already enslaved her like you said you were going to do, then this would be a non-issue as Voltron would be no more and Arus overrun. However, you are so wrapped up in your pursuit of her that you are losing sight of what is most important. I will commend you in your capture of Princess Romelle, as that was an excellent strategic move - she will provide some leverage against the royal houses of Pollux and Arus, but this was not the main reason you did it; rather, you took her because she is unfortunate enough to bear some resemblance to her cousin. You did it first and foremost because if you could not have Allura, then you would settle for an imitation of her, and only secondly because it was in the best interest of the empire."

Lotor squared his jaw at the witch, his finely chiseled countenance darkening in response to her reprimand. His mouth was working, as if he was developing a retort to her verbal barb, but he suddenly slumped back down into his chair, exhaustion taking its toll upon him.

"I know that I have failed in keeping my priorities where they need to be, and that I have you to thank for keeping my father too occupied to come down upon me too harshly for my lack of judgment," he acknowledged caustically, "However, I am at a complete loss for what to do. For multiple reasons, I cannot leave Allura be, and yet I cannot bring myself to kill her. I understand that I have not been myself since my first battle with that damned mecha, and that that oversight has made me, and all of us, look like fools. I just... feel as if I am coming undone."

If he had raged at her like his father undoubtedly would have, Haggar would have responded in kind, albeit respectfully; however, she was completely unprepared for this bitter confession.

She gazed at him for a moment before exhaling heavily. "All is not lost, Sire. We still have time to recover from these defeats, and you will show everyone that you are still strong. A few lost battles does not mean the war is over. Sleep is the remedy you need right now; after a night without dreams, I am sure your way will become clear to you."

"Hope springs eternal...," the prince laughed bitingly, closing his eyes as he momentarily reclined his head back on the chair.

Clenching her jaw in order to conceal a sharp retort, Haggar extended her hand and slowly moved her fingertips across Lotor's azure brow, concentrating on a Word that would bring to a person a slumber without visions. After a brief time, she removed it and seated herself next to him. Soon, his features began to relax, losing their appearance of discomfiting frustration. As sleep began to steal over him, the witch gently ran her fingers through his icy mane, soothing him as she had once done so long ago, when he was still a young boy, free from self-doubt and everything in the world to hope for.


	10. The End of Us, Ch 10

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**The End of Us, Ch. 10**

In a moment of clarity, Lotor knew exactly what it was that he wanted. It was all so clear now. He would assume the mantle of power over the Doom Empire, either by inheritance or through a coup, and the Princess of Arus would be at his side, not as his slave, but as his wife. His feelings toward the daughter of King Alfor remained confused, although his desire for her was perfectly straightforward, but if they were married, then legally, both Planet Arus and Voltron would belong to the empire and, therefore, him. The war would be over and there would be no one left to challenge Planet Doom's domination of the Denubian Galaxy.

This was the thought he chose to focus on, rather than the underlying reason he wanted to bind Allura to himself - the idea of the beautiful and spirited princess devoting herself to a lesser man sent a terrible spike of jealousy through the dark prince that left him breathless.

He despised the tempest she had stirred within his heart, and he hated the fact that she had unraveled his self-discipline so effortlessly. Princess Allura frequented his thoughts and haunted his dreams. He had thought that subjugating her and bending her to his will would exorcise this sway she held over him, but she always side-stepped him with the grace of a trained dancer, infuriating him to no end. A woman, who by all rights should have been his chattel, was making a fool out of him; what was more, because of her, Lotor had failed for the first time in his life, not just once, but repeatedly. She was ruining him, and this offense was unforgivable.

And yet, each time he beheld her, felt her lithe body tremble stoically against his own, looked into her awe-inspiring eyes and witnessed the utter defiance they contained, the son of Zarkon could feel a certain rightness about the situation. Beside the hunger she inspired in him, an ineffable feeling also filled him, a mysterious placidity he had not felt for many, many years. It was as if he were in a desert and she was a rare, cool drink of water that would soothe his parched throat. He could not comprehend the almost supernatural effect she had upon him.

As his bride, she would have no avenue of escape this time. She would submit to him, and this disturbing appetite he had that inexplicably only she could satisfy would be satiated once and for all. Lotor's brief season of failures would be forgotten, and the only thing everyone would remember was that he had defeated the mighty Voltron and that he was the most powerful being in the galaxy.

* * *

><p>The Prince Imperial of Doom was besides himself with an irrational rage.<p>

"She refused my offer!" he exclaimed loudly, angrily casting a bottle of alcohol that sat atop his sidebar against one of the dark walls in his personal quarters, "Me! Like I was some type of peasant not even worthy of her!"

His slaves, long aware of his growing volatility in the wake of his first return to Doom, wisely stayed away from him. Instead, Haggar sat across from him on one of the plush seats that were scattered about the room, massaging her left temple with one hand and stroking the luxuriant fur of her familiar, who reclined in her lap, with the other.

"My Prince, what offer are you talking about?" the witch asked exasperatedly.

"I offered her the honor of being my wife!" Lotor wrathfully spat out, beginning to pace agitatedly.

Her golden eyes immediately snapped open in shock and she dropped her hand from her wrinkled brow. "What?"

"I extended her the option to surrender and be rewarded for it!" he snarled, his pale river of hair flying out as he violently threw himself down onto his couch.

"But... why marriage, Sire? We have the power to take Arus by conquest."

"Because Arus and Voltron would belong to us without the need to expend another soldier, ship, or robeast! After that, we would have a galactic empire in the truest sense!" Lotor explained savagely, curling his fist around the stem of a glass that was close by and downing the scarlet fluid it contained in order to avoid mentioning his other reason, that maybe Allura would stop plaguing him so and he could continue on with his destiny, unhindered.

The sorceress immediately saw the truth of his statement, but she also witnessed the deep personal affront that he felt and tried to conceal underneath his bitterness. He had expected the Princess of Arus to give in to him, as almost all other females did, either because of his exotic appearance or immense power, and when she hadn't, it had stunned and offended him. More than that, it had inflamed him because she had rejected him on not only a political level, but a personal one as well. She did not want the privilege of having him as a husband, and she did not want him as he had, and still, wanted her. It was the ultimate insult to lay on top of the other humiliations she had caused him.

..._By all that is holy, the man is bewitched_..., Haggar thought in amazement, ..._I should have seen this coming_...

"You are correct, Sire, her hand in marriage would allow for the absorption of her planet into the empire, and she was most unwise to accept your proposition. However, there is no need to be so upset. We will make her, Arus, and Voltron all pay for their insolence, you will succeed your father, and there are many other bridal candidates available, all willing, beautiful, and potential assets, if it is a wife you now desire," she croaked, still shocked, in an attempt to soothe his ire.

But there was no consoling Lotor. She could read it in his expression and blazing eyes - this was not yet over. Allura would pay, but he would be the one to personally make her see the error of all of her ways. He would make her truly understand the extremely embarrassing and enigmatically exquisite agony he had been forced to endure for countless months as a result of her. No one refused the Prince Imperial of Doom.

"Get out."

The statement was terse, and yet still managed to convey all of his indignation, fury, and even hurt.

"As you wish, Sire," she sighed.

Haggar swept Zarkon's son a bow before shortly leaving him to angrily dwell on this newest offense.

* * *

><p>More weeks passed. The prince, as well as the witch, soon received a summons to attend the emperor in the throne room.<p>

As Haggar situated herself in her normal spot next to the monarch on the golden dais, Lotor knelt at the foot of it, unsure of the reason for the summons but knowing that it was about him somehow.

"Rise, my son," Zarkon drawled, motioning with one hand towards his heir's figure.

"Thank you, Father. What is this about?" Lotor inquired as he straightened out his lofty frame.

The Emperor of Doom smiled in a way that expressed a deep sense of satisfaction.

"I wanted to inform you that I have brokered an alliance between our empire and the one of Demos, the ruling body of the Maharan Galaxy. You are to be congratulated, as you will soon be wed to the daughter of Emperor Taral Zin. This alliance will unite the two empires in a force large enough to obliterate the Alliance and even possibly challenge the Drule Supremacy itself, let alone the likes of Voltron."

The prince's felinoid eyes widened in shock. "What?!"

His sire's smile widened. "Your future empress has been chosen, and the Doom Empire's territory and power will be expanded two-fold. You should rejoice, my son. Princess Corrall is a legendary beauty, and the Demosians appear mostly human, which I know gets your engines going."

Forgetting proper protocol in his surprise, Lotor dashed up the steps leading to the throne until he stood before Zarkon.

"Father, no! You can't do this!" the prince exclaimed, an irrational panic taking hold of him.

The Drule monarch slit his reptilian eyes at this display of disrespect.

"You forget your place, Lotor," he intoned coldly, "This can and will happen. I could have chosen someone less pleasing to the eye for you."

His son shook his head in a negating manner, his expression unreadable. "No. There is someone else - "

Zarkon abruptly stood up from his throne, his immense body dwarfing even his heir's. His blue face, landscaped by age lines and spots, darkened in fury.

"No, do not even say that whore's name!" he bellowed in rage, spittle flying from his maw as he bared his sharp canines, "Do not think I haven't heard the rumors about your little obsession! You have lost too many times and squandered too many assets to Planet Arus because you can't see past your cock as far as that bitch is concerned! You have made a spectacle of yourself and me! I will not allow you to jeopardize my empire!"

Lotor's countenance became similarly clouded with anger, but he stayed his hand.

Zarkon reseated himself and continued glacially, "I have been more than patient with you over these past few months, my son. Do not think that just because you are my heir that you can get away with this incompetence! I would have banished anyone else for even less! Be grateful that I am giving you an opportunity to redeem yourself for your lack of judgment and am enhancing your inheritance, although right now you don't really deserve it!"

Lotor clenched his jaw, teeth grinding in vexation, but abruptly knelt at the foot of his sovereign's throne.

"Forgive me my outburst and past failures, Father. You are right, I have let my priorities become skewed; I don't know what I was thinking," he growled to the golden surface of the raised dais, bitter at being forced to display this embarrassing servility, "I only hope I will possess even half of your wisdom when I come to throne. I will honor your arrangement with the Demos Empire, but I ask for one more chance to acquire Voltron for our arsenal through marriage to Princess Allura."

The Emperor of Doom smiled unsettlingly at the sight of his son prostrating himself at his booted feet.

"I am gratified to hear that you have learned something from your grievous mistakes, Lotor. Very well, I will give you what you ask, although I highly doubt that marriage to Alfor's daughter will be anything like what you are fantasizing it to be, and, quite frankly, I find the idea of his line mixing with our own a little nauseating," he uttered lowly, enjoying his heir's discomfort, "Once you fail again, the alliance with Demos _will_ happen and you _will_ wed Princess Corrall. After that, if you still want that Arusian trollop, then by all means fuck her, make her your concubine, but you will honor Corrall as your wife."

The prince bit his lip savagely in order to prevent any epithets from streaming out. "I thank you, Father."

As he rose from his kneeling position with as much dignity as he could muster, he glanced sharply towards Haggar, who had remained seated and said nothing during this entire exchange. The witch returned his gaze and quietly shook her head - no, she had known nothing about these plans.

Lotor suddenly turned around and stormed down the dais stairs, leaving the throne room in an angry silence.


	11. The End of Us, Ch 11

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**The End of Us, Ch. 11**

That very night, Lotor banged roughly on the portal to Haggar's laboratory, his thoughts flitting about wildly within his head. Within a few moments, the door slid smoothly open and revealed the witch's hunched form to his golden gaze.

"Greetings, Sire," she stated evenly as she lowered her head in deference before allowing him entry, "I suspected you would want to speak with me after the events that transpired this afternoon."

The son of Zarkon nodded curtly at her as he strode into the room, his large body radiating an agitation that was easy for anyone to perceive. He moved to the spot he usually frequented within her facilities and leaned heavily against the hard wall.

"As you already know, I am to be wed to the Princess of Demos," he ground out tensely, "I understand the benefits the alliance with Demos would bring to Doom, but I remain determined to have Allura as my bride."

The sorceress hesitated for a moment before she replied, "My Prince, if you are already aware of the good that could come from the marriage, why do you continue to pursue this goal?"

Lotor set his jaw at a stubborn angle, fiercely trying to reel in his temper before it flared outwards in response to her invasive question. How could he possibly even begin to describe to her all of the painful nuances and the excruciating intensity of the emotions that Alfor's daughter stirred within him? How, for some twisted, unknown reason, she filled the void that he never knew existed within him? And how, worst of all, he felt the inexplicable need for her to look upon him, not with the fear she already felt, but with desire, even devotion?

"My reasons are my own, Haggar, and they will remain so until I decide otherwise," he said shortly, "I only have one more chance with Allura before my future is decided for me... Can I count on your support in this endeavor?"

The witch bit her thin lower lip as she clutched at her staff before treading slowly towards a nearby seat in order to sit down. The prince had always been stubborn, even as a boy, but she did not understand why he was so fixated on having the last remaining child of King Alfor as his wife. Was his interest in her beyond carnal?

"Sire, you know that I am sworn to serve the throne and, therefore, you...," she spoke slowly, choosing her next words with care, "And while I have only the utmost respect for you, I have also sworn to uphold the well-being of the empire. I maintain my stance on your marriage to Corrall. The alliance with Demos would only enhance the power, prestige, and status of our empire. While wedding the Princess of Arus would render her planet, as well as Voltron, ours, she has also made it very clear that she will never willingly submit to Doom's rule. I would continue to simply say take her, but you cannot even bring yourself to drag her into harm's way. Continuing to pursue her in this manner will only weaken the infrastructure and reputation of the empire."

"Do you think that I have not considered those very ideas?" the Prince Imperial of Doom sighed in frustration, crossing his broad arms as he stared intently at the shining floor, "I do not want the empire to suffer as a result of my... personal wishes, either. However, I know things will work out once Allura is here. I will change her mind, and with her absence, the framework of Arus will crumble and Voltron will no longer be a threat. We do not need the influence of Demos to continue our domination of the Denubian Galaxy, and if we seek to expand outwards, we can always preserve the alliance with them through other means."

Haggar glanced at him suspiciously. "Perhaps, Sire... but can you guarantee that you would be able to harness her influence upon you?"

"I will manage her!" he snapped at her with more vehemence than he actually felt.

"My Prince, I still believe you will accomplish more good for both Doom and yourself if you proceed with this wedding."

Lotor savagely dug his gloved fingers into his biceps to remind himself that he was here to try and win the sorceress' aid in reaching his goal. He saw the painful truth in the words she spoke, but he just could not imagine a future at the helm of the Doom Empire without Allura at his side. She would be reluctant, which was entirely understandable, considering that it was his father who had cut off the head of her own, but if she could not be beguiled through physical attraction, which rankled him slightly (after all... what was it the Terrans were always saying?... What was he, chopped liver?), then he was confident she would soon see the wisdom in what his power and wealth could bring to her and her people.

He exhaled slowly and then quietly spoke, "Haggar, I would expect no less from you than complete fidelity to the empire and its prosperity over anything as inconsequential as personal desires. In this case, however, I would have the benefits of both - the satisfaction of my personal desires would in turn cause the empire to thrive. Voltron will belong to us, its technology will be ours, and nobody in the universe will be able to stop our progress. I know, and strongly feel, that this will work to our benefit. However, I will need your help."

Zarkon's heir paused for a moment and considered the deceptively frail-looking woman who had served as a surrogate mother to him for as long as he could remember. Her dark cowl cast her scarred features in shadow, but he could still see her troubled gaze glowing faintly from within that dim veil. It was evident to him that she was feeling torn between conflicting loyalties.

"If you grant me this desire, Haggar, then I too will grant you yours."

The witch felt her breath catch in her throat. "What exactly do you mean, Sire?"

"I will not presume to know exactly what transpired between you and my father in the past, but I do know of the promise he made to you, a promise he has failed to keep," Lotor explained gently, his tone persuasive, "I see how integral you have been to the formation of this empire, and how faithful your service has been. I also see how you have been rewarded for your selflessness. When my father's time as emperor is done, I give you my word that I will share the power of the throne with you; that is, if you assist me in this."

She could not initially find the words to speak in order to respond to his shocking statement. How had he found out about that? There were barely any people left at court who could recall the days when she had been beautiful and more than the emperor's advisor. If it was spoken of at all, then it was done so only in hushed whispers; it was a sort of public secret, like the prince's biological mother.

..._Are'es_...

Even though he had made his stance on their past relationship very clear to her, Haggar knew she would be lying to herself if she had said that she no longer felt anything for him. It was his initial acceptance of her, as well as his determination and ambition, that had made her fall in love with him so very long ago. He alone had encouraged her to further her studies of magic, particularly the dark variety, where she had grown immeasurably powerful. He had also given her wealth and a high place in court, and it was because of him that she had found the dark half to her own soul, the demon Coba'a.

And yet... the motives of the former soldier turned monarch for recognizing her capabilities were not borne from love, but rather selfishness and economy. The witch had come to this realization long ago, but she still crumpled internally when the idea came upon her once more. It was natural to draw talent into one's personal arsenal when they had a goal as lofty as building their own domain from the ground up, and while the emperor had appreciated her beauty while she was still in the flush of youth, there had never been any genuine affection. When it had became clear to him how the sorceress felt towards him, he had ruthlessly used those emotions as a leash to harness her and keep her going forward, all for him, all for his empire. He had honed her skills, at the expense of her own labor, as one would sharpen a tool, and he had played upon her as one would play upon a _nuu'at_. It was not even him who had caused her powers to magnify a thousandfold, but rather Coba'a and his demonic gifts.

In a twisted fashion, she could have tolerated this existence if Zarkon had at least kept his word to her; although he had been correct in that he had never said that he loved her, he had once sworn to make her his empress, to share his throne with her, if she ever destroyed the mighty construct known as Voltron. This, she had done; by the inferno that had seared her flesh and would have killed her if it had not been for Coba'a, she had torn the body of the great mecha asunder and sent it hurtling back down to planet below, laying the fertile world open to be ravished by the military might of the Doom Empire. King Alfor and his heirs had been executed, the royal line meeting a violent end by blade and fire, thus spelling the beginning of the end of the Arusian rebellion.

Haggar had kept her part of the pact, but rather than the throne, she had been recompensed for her great sacrifice with nothing more than her old position of power, ingratitude, and daily abuse. However she had felt, and still felt, for Are'es Zarkon, she found it increasingly difficult to recall the happier memories of old, which she knew now had been little more than illusion. Would she and Doom fare any better under the rule of Cha'el Lotor, his heir? The affection the young prince had given her as a child and the respect that he gave her now was far more real and substantial than anything his father had ever yielded her.

The sorceress momentarily studied the tall frame of Drule prince, the man who had grown from the boy who should have been her son. In addition to possessing the same felinoid eyes, he was every bit as ambitious, intelligent, arrogant, and calculating as his sire. He was more adaptable than most of the leadership of Doom's military, and up until his initial return to the empire, he had been undefeated on the battlefield. He had not known defeat afterwards because of incompetence, but rather because he had become lost amidst a maze of frustration over someone who had an inexplicably profound effect on him and used his very impatience to foil him at seemingly every turn, which of course only infuriated him even further. Despite this, Lotor still had the wisdom to seek her counsel and, though he needed periodic reminding of his true objective, he did keep the welfare of the empire in mind, if not for the sake of his people, then at the very least, for the sake of preserving his birthright. He respected the advice she gave him, save for any concerning the future Queen of Arus.

"Are you in love with her?" she abruptly asked the dark prince.

The startled and vulnerable look that briefly washed over his handsome countenance before narrowed eyes and a cold, cynical half-smile quickly replaced it told the witch everything she needed to know.

"As you said, she is simply another pretty face, and marriage to her would be the most efficient way to obtain Voltron and end the war."

"With all due respect, Sire, please stop," Haggar uttered tiredly as she lowered her hand to her lap in order to give Coba the attention he apparently now desired, "I think you do care for her, and I think you are aware of this fact but feel too ashamed to admit to it aloud. There is no shame in loving someone, although I have to wonder on the choice you have made. I still believe that the Demosian emperor's daughter would be better for you... but it is also true that we do not need the aid of Demos to rule this galaxy."

Zarkon's son had the grace to appear discomfited, rather than wrathful, at the sorceress' words.

"I don't know what I feel for her exactly, but I can't stop thinking about her, and I can barely sleep for fear of dreaming of her again. She fills me with this feeling that I cannot even name. She has frustrated me more than any person that I have ever met, and yet she satisfies me more than anyone ever has. I still want her, but I also want her heart... If this meets your definition of the word 'love,' then yes, I suppose that I love her."

The witch did not know what to feel at that moment. She was utterly exasperated with the prince, and yet still proud of him for being willing to admit to her this vulnerability of his. Now that his problem had been identified, they could begin to take the steps necessary to achieve victory again.

"My Prince, will you honor your word to me if I choose to help you?" she inquired brusquely, a bit more sharply than she intended.

Lotor hesitated, but only for a moment.

He removed himself from against the wall and paced towards her seated figure. Once he had arrived before her, he knelt so that his height was equal to her own. He reached down to his leather belt and unsheathed a large dagger, wickedly sharp and plain, save for some subtle ornamentation upon the hilt, that he kept near his lazon-infused sword. The prince dragged the white glove from his other large hand with his pointed canines and slid the edge of the fine weapon across his azure palm, red blood welling up from a thin line and pooling on the surface.

Blood-letting was not an uncommon practice on Doom; strength was a trait that was prized above all others, and blood was the strength and vitality of a body. Blood offerings were often given to the Gods as a sign of submission to their divine authority, and blood oaths between individuals were considered inviolable.

"Allura will be my empress, but you will be the empress mother," the prince replied steadily to her, extending the dagger handle-first towards Haggar with his unwounded hand, "On my honor as the Prince Imperial, however, I swear that I will share the power of the throne with you. If we ever have a conflict of interests, then we shall address it accordingly. You will be honored as the matriarch of the Doom Empire."

The witch briefly considered him with suspicion before lowering her gaze and gently moving her blue-furred familiar from her lap. She took the blade with one clawed hand and slid the edge along a withered palm, blood that was also red in hue beginning to weep from the ensuing cut.

"I accept your offering, and give my own," she intoned as she handed the weapon back and grasped his bleeding palm with her own, "Blood with blood, we stand bound."

As their blood mingled together, she continued speaking, "I will deliver the Princess of Arus to you."

"I will share the throne with you," the Drule prince replied.

"The Gods have heard and seen, and only They may sunder this bond," Haggar spoke the final words.

The air became thick with power, but the sensation was soon gone.

Lotor smiled at her slightly before straightening back up and seeking a cloth to wipe the blade clean upon. Once he had accomplished his objective, he hefted the dagger back into its sheath and wrapped the absorbent material around his cut palm in order to halt the bleeding.

"I understand any skepticism you may have felt, Haggar, for my father is a cold and ruthless man. I hope this act has removed any doubts you may have had towards my sincerity."

Haggar returned his expression for a moment before giving her own wounded hand the attention it required. Rather than finding something to staunch the bleeding, she focused all of her attention on the cut, the blood that was pooling from it suddenly congealing and converging together into a single mass. The strange accumulation narrowed and funneled down into the gash, which then began to rapidly knit and close. When her supernatural act was finished, the witch released her pent-up breath with a small shudder and rose up slowly from seat, her now-intact hand grasping her staff firmly.

Lotor observed the phenomenon with curiosity. "If you can heal yourself like that, why do you still carry your scars from your battle with Voltron?"

The witch smiled bitterly at his innocent query. "Yes, one of my powers is to shape flesh, including my own. While I have the ability to make myself appear as I once did, I would know it to be false. I wear my scars to remind myself that it happened and that I am still alive, and to remind the universe that I have not let it stop me and am more powerful than I ever was before."

"I am inclined to agree," he expressed noncommittally, pocketed his discarded glove as he changed the subject, "My father indicated that I was to meet with Corrall soon, so we will need to act quickly."

"Of course, Sire," she affirmed as she bowed slightly towards him, "I will need a day or so to meditate. I can tell you now that this will need to be a covert mission, which means we can only take the bare minimum with us. We will not be able to stay on Arus for long."

The prince inclined his head towards her. "I thank you, Haggar. I will not forget this."

Without another word, he left the sorceress to her studies.


	12. The End of Us, Ch 12

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**Author's Note:** I wanted to thank everyone so far who has entertained my inner attention whore, particularly Drowningblonde, who has helped me to find some plot bunnies to aid in eking out these past 2 chapters. Thank you!

**The End of Us, Ch. 12**

Within a day and a half of their last encounter, Haggar requested that the prince meet with her again within her laboratory, the hour being late when he at last chose to grace her somber facilities with his brooding presence.

"Sire," she stated, offering him a subtle bow from her position near a worktable whose surface was littered with numerous experiments, some of them abandoned, but most in various stages of advancement, as he walked in.

"Haggar," he nodded at her before brusquely inquiring, "What progress do you make?"

After acknowledging her small gesture of obeisance, Lotor abruptly lowered his tall frame into a nearby seat.

"As I said the other night, this will need to be a covert mission," the witch replied methodically as she gathered up her worn staff and plodded over, Coba following her, to another chair that was close to the one the prince had selected for himself, "Bringing Princess Allura to Doom, all the while remaining undetected, is a substantially more delicate operation than any we have ever performed before. The princess never goes anywhere without an escort now, and the security of the Castle of Lions has been tightened to the point where infiltration through any means currently at our disposal is near impossible. She will need to be drawn out."

The dark prince nodded, but said nothing. What she had said was nothing new to him. The defenses of Arus had been hardened significantly since the assassination of the original Blue Lion pilot, but from time to time, rare holes appeared in the form of rebellious outbursts from the daughter of King Alfor, such as wandering out-of-doors without an escort or piloting a Lion she was not familiar with during a battle. He was always quick to act on these chances, but his logic always seemed to deteriorate in her presence.

"Despite the difficulty that lies ahead, an opportunity will soon arise that will aid us in our objective," Haggar continued, beginning to scratch the dark blue ears of her familiar after he deposited himself into her robed lap, his tail curling in pleasure as a loud, rattling purr emanated from his throat, "Within two days, a local festival will be occurring in Altair, the principality that the Castle of Lions lies in; as the residing noble, Princess Allura will be officiating it, which means she will be out in the open, albeit with an escort. We have a narrow window of time to work within, but it will not be enough to incapacitate her guards and obtain her alive. We will only have enough time to kill her."

"The situation sounds ideal, but the outcome you are describing is absolutely unacceptable," Lotor interrupted lowly, his saffron gaze tightening in fury at her suggestion.

Prompted by the insinuated malice in his tone, the sorceress appraised the Drule prince through slightly slanted eyes. "Your sentiment is understandable, Sire, and however I personally feel about the choice you have made, you can rest assured that I remember the gravity of our arrangement and will honor its conditions accordingly. I used the term 'kill' figuratively. Although the only feasible accomplishment we could achieve in the time allotted to us is to dispatch the princess, no one said it needed to be permanent."

It was obvious that the idea of Allura losing her life greatly disturbed the emperor's son. He was no longer glaring at Haggar, but his expression remained drawn and his posture rigid.

"I don't follow. What you are suggesting is an impossibility."

A ghost of a smile crossed the witch's features as she leaned over the prone body of Coba, nearly burying her face in his thick fur. In response, the large feline rolled over and exposed his belly for petting, purring even louder than before.

"You are correct, My Prince. Even science and the occult have their limits. I speak of forcibly inducing a state of suspended animation upon the princess via a toxin. It will not physically hurt her, but her bodily functions will begin to slow and, for all intrinsic purposes, appear to fail. The attack will happen in front of many people, and they will all think her dying; the only ones who will know it to be a ruse will be you and me. The Arusians do not burn their dead, but rather bury them in graves or tombs. When she fully enters suspended animation and appears dead, Allura will be placed in the crypts below the Castle of Lions, and we can intercept her body before it is interred. The effects of the toxin are not permanent, and once they wear off, she will be up and about again."

Lotor frowned as he listened to her explanation, still not liking the idea of hurting the princess, even if it was only subterfuge. Haggar's strategy was promising, however, and was beginning to appeal to his logical side.

"Your plan seems sound, but how will it be achieved?"

The sorceress rose up from her familiar's belly and spoke to the prince, "The two of us shall go to Arus, Sire, but we will remain hidden while someone reliable introduces the toxin to Allura's body via a coated blade."

As she finished her words, Coba sat up in her lap and meowed, his tail lashing back and forth conspiratorially. Lotor's glance turned suspicious, flicking from the cat back to Haggar.

"You said she would not be harmed," he stipulated cautiously.

Haggar almost smirked at the dogged protectiveness he continued to exhibit towards Alfor's progeny to the point of self-sabotage, but tactfully kept a placid expression on her scarred face.

"My Prince, I vow that she will not be hurt," she replied diplomatically, "A small incision will have to be made, but it will be painless. In addition to being swift and careful, Coba is also conscientious of your... feelings towards her."

The prince appeared momentarily disgruntled, but in a moment he rose from his seat and nodded gruffly towards her. "Very well, then. I will place my faith in you and your... familiar."

After briefly lowering her head in an appreciative gesture, the witch gently removed the cobalt feline from her lap and similarly ascended from her own chair, brushing cat hair from her drab-colored garment. "I will not promise that this will work, Sire, but if you listen to my counsel, we should be successful. The festival is within two days, so we will need to make preparations for the mission soon."

"I acknowledge that success is not guaranteed, but this is the last chance my father is willing to grant me," Zarkon's heir responded laconically, dragging the fingers of one hand through his colorless mane, "If we fail, then more drastic plans will need to be made, because I am not giving up my birthright, nor am I giving up on Allura."

Haggar eyed him carefully as she grasped her staff once more.

..._He means to unseat his father at some point_..., she thought, shocked at her own lack of surprise on the prospect.

She realized that she had entered into a serious compact with the him, but it did not necessarily entail siding with him in the event of a coup. If one were to happen, whom would she support? Her aid would be required by one of them in order to either successfully hold onto or take the throne. She had already examined the natures of her relationships with both the emperor and the prince imperial; she knew she would have to make her choice soon, but she did not want to think about warring with either the man who should have been her husband or the man who should have been her son.

"Duly noted, Sire. I will begin working out the logistics of the mission," she answered dully, suddenly solemn as she began to tread back towards her worktable.

"Thank you again, Haggar," Lotor stated before beginning to make his way towards the exit.

Acting on an afterthought, he unexpectedly stopped after a few steps and faced the sorceress once more. "My 'betrothed' will be arriving tomorrow and I am expected to greet her... I would consider it a favor if you would accompany me."

Curiosity piqued within Haggar, but she simply bowed and said, "Of course, Sire."

A satisfied expression crossing his chiseled facade, the prince inclined his head towards the witch one final time before departing the laboratory.

* * *

><p>The next day, the Prince Imperial of Doom and the witch stood within a small yet sumptuously decorated audience chamber when his bride-to-be, if the emperor had anything to do with it, suddenly walked in.<p>

Princess Corrall Zin, trailed by two handmaidens, gracefully sank down to the floor in an act of submission before his upright figure, her sanguine gown spreading out in a silken pool. He scrutinized her and her entourage momentarily, and the first thing he noticed was that his father had indeed been right; Demosians did appear similar to humans, with a couple of small differences, of course. Their eyes were deeply slanted and came in a limited spectrum of red, ranging anywhere from deep crimson to bright scarlet, while their ears came to fine points, although no where near as pronounced as his own. Their countenances also seemed to possess a subtle hunger; it was obvious to the prince that these were not a peace-mongering people. Corrall herself had this same expression in her blood-red eyes when she raised her head back up, although he could not see the rest of her face due to a thick veil obscuring the rest of her features.

She soon removed her veil, however, revealing a flawless cream-colored complexion. She said something in a foreign, lilting language, which Haggar quickly translated into Imperial Drule for the sake of the dark prince.

"Master, I bring you greetings on behalf of the illustrious Demos Empire. I am Princess Corrall Zin, daughter of the mighty Emperor Taral Zin. It is my honor to have been chosen as your bride. Your desires are now my desires, and my only wish is to serve you."

This response would have garnered a pleased reaction from Lotor months ago, but it just irritated him now for some reason. Filled with a sudden impatience, he briefly nodded and gestured for her to rise. The Demosian princess and her handmaidens ascended from the floor as artfully as they had prostrated themselves upon it. She smiled seductively at him, causing him to grit his teeth in annoyance.

Emperor Taral's daughter was tall and voluptuous, her ruby and onyx raiment adhering to her pale curves like a second skin. A diadem of solid emerald in the shape of a serpent, the symbol of Demos, rested in her long, flaming tresses, clashing wildly with the rest of her ensemble. Her lips were sensual, her face was fair, and her very demeanor dripped with insinuated pleasure; she was a hedonist's favorite dream. Lotor would have found her very agreeable when he had first returned to Planet Doom, but he now simply found her to be cloying and artificial when compared to the unassuming and stalwart nature of the Princess of Arus.

The prince abruptly turned to Haggar and bluntly stated, "Haggar, I can't marry this woman. If I wanted a slave for my future empress, then I would have wed one of the girls in my harem. Get her out of my sight."

The witch winced; thankfully, Princess Corrall did not understood the Drule language, at least not yet. "Sire, we cannot simply send her back. It would go against your father's decree, and would also greatly offend the Emperor of Demos; we cannot afford to have him as an enemy."

"I know what my father said, and frankly, I don't really care," he replied stiffly, "I intend on having Allura as my bride. If you cannot send her home, then send her somewhere else and have someone who isn't me attend to her needs. She's wasting my time."

"Yes, Sire," Haggar sighed.

Corrall watched this exchange with slightly narrowed eyes, but continued to smile and waited until she was addressed.

The sorceress bowed apologetically to the Demosian princess before speaking to her in her own musical tongue, "Your Imperial Highness, Prince Lotor is gladdened by your arrival and welcomes you to Planet Doom. He regrets to say that he must attend to some business that cannot wait, but a suite of rooms has been prepared for you and your staff in the meantime, and the palace is at your disposal. He will call upon you as soon as the availability arises."

The daughter of Taral inclined her head in acknowledgement at the advisor. "Please tell Prince Lotor that I am honored by his kind words. I await his arrival with great joy."

She and her entourage then sank into another bow before their future sovereign prior to being led out of the audience chamber by a nameless Drule attendant.

Lotor glanced at the witch as he said lowly, "What did you tell her?"

Haggar clutched at her staff with a gnarled hand and exhaled heavily again. "Nothing of importance, Sire. I merely told her that you were busy and would see her when you became free."

"Not likely," the Drule prince snorted, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

"Sire, I must again advise that you handle this situation with finesse. We do not have the luxury of being able to anger Emperor Taral by simply sending his daughter back to him like a trunk of used goods. We are already in the middle of a war, and we do not need another one. If we offend Demos, it will threaten the stability of our empire moreso than Voltron has, and that's only because it has been used solely in a defensive manner so far. You may not like Princess Corrall, but you must be courteous to her."

"I realize this, Haggar," he responded with a thinly veiled exasperation.

The witch sighed once more before she stated, "The Arusian festival occurs on the morrow, Sire. We will need to depart soon if we are to make it on time."

Lotor nodded in agreement, suddenly tense. Within a few moments, the two collaborators then left the audience chamber.

* * *

><p>The attendant that escorted Princess Corral and her handmaidens to the suite that had been set aside for them soon departed after ensuring that any immediate needs and desires were met. As soon as the doors were shut, the trio of women began to examine the interior of the rooms with a discerning eye. The wealth of the Doom Empire was evidenced by the presence of richly dressed slaves and the opulence of the decor, but it was all fairly monochromatic, lacking the vibrancy of the hues that adorned typical Demosian architecture. There was a bit of color present in some of the furnishings, but the majority of everything else, including the walls and the floors, was in varying shades of gray and black.<p>

"Faraan, bring me some wine," Corrall said briskly as she removed her veil, as well as her heavy diadem, and carelessly dropped both on a small table that was close by.

"As you wish, Your Radiance," the handmaiden to her left intoned, bowing gracefully before venturing to a sidebar in order to fetch the desired item.

Within a few moments, she returned with an ornately tooled goblet filled with an amber liquid and offered it to the princess. The daughter of Emperor Taral took the proffered beverage and sat down on a nearby couch, briefly ignoring the presence of both of her servants.

Prior to her arrival on Planet Doom, she had heard some allegations about her intended. One had been concerning his physical appearance, and she could now see that it was true; Prince Lotor was quite possibly the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life. His manners left a lot to be desired, however. A second allegation she had been privy to during her travels was that he had developed an unhealthy interest in a specific female, one who happened to be from a race of slaves.

On impulse, Corrall motioned to her other handmaiden, the one who usually stood at her right. "Me'nal, come sit with me."

The servant known as Me'nal bowed towards her and replied, "As you wish, Your Radiance."

The handmaiden, clad in a gown similar to that of the one worn by the princess, though much less resplendent, traipsed gracefully across the floor and seated herself a respectful distance away from her, keeping her crimson eyes downcast.

"I know for a fact that that wretched crone did not translate everything my betrothed said," Corrall spoke thoughtfully after she took a delicate sip from the goblet, "Me'nal, I want you to tell me everything that was said in my presence."

"Your Radiance, he expressed doubts on his desire to enter into an alliance with Demos," the handmaiden reported softly, her small hands clasped together in her lap, "He made an unfavorable comparison between you and his harem chattel. He then spoke of his intentions towards someone named Al-Allura."

She stumbled slightly over the foreign name.

"I see," Corrall frowned as her blood-hued eyes narrowed, "Both you and Faraan are dismissed. Don't go too far, though."

"As you wish, Your Radiance."

The Demosian princess stared discontentedly into the pale liquid of the goblet within her hands. The second rumor about the Prince Imperial of Doom's mistaken infatuation with a pathetic slave also appeared to be true; it was the only thing that could account for his rejection of her, she whose bloodline was of divine origin. This was a grave affront, but the ancestry of the prince, which was alleged to be tainted by human blood, could be the reason behind this foolish inclination of his. Her father had warned her that the royal line of the Doom Empire was still young in comparison to their own, which could trace its lineage back hundreds of years, but the fledgling empire more than made up for its youth with its sheer brazenness. In a matter of a few decades, it had amassed enough power, wealth, and influence to rival Demos; this was the only reason her father had even entertained the idea of entering into an alliance with Emperor Zarkon.

Corrall would have been within her rights to leave after the boorish behavior demonstrated by the prince, but his presence had struck a chord within her, despite the fact she knew his background to be inferior. It was his very mixed blood that granted him his size, presence, and breathtaking appearance. Within him, she could sense a mettle to match her own; the two of them together could rule a unified empire that stretched the length and breadth of two galaxies, and that was only the beginning. Having his children would be hardly be a chore, either. She immediately decided that her godly lineage would more than compensate for his dirtied blood. There was no telling what she and her future husband could accomplish together. If she could just get a chance to speak with him privately, then she could surely cure him of this embarrassing obsession that occupied him so.

But... there was no telling when Prince Lotor would return. Sighing prettily, Corrall leaned back into the plush couch and took another swallow of wine, lost within her own thoughts once more.


	13. The End of Us, Ch 13

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**The End of Us, Ch. 13**

The time had come for the wheels of Haggar's plan to be set into motion. Lotor and the witch took off with minimum equipment and personnel, the goal being the circumvention of the Arusian defense systems and the extraction of the planet's princess via speed and stealth. They would need to be alert and ready to depart at a moment's notice when the time came to evacuate. There was no doubt that that particular phase of the plan would attract attention, but by then, it would be too late. They would be traveling quickly, and with luck, they would be behind the lazon-powered planetary shield that protected Doom from would-be attackers before any damage could be done. There would be no need to worry about interference from Voltron, for without the princess, there would be no eligible pilot to fly Blue Lion, and without Blue Lion, there would be no Voltron.

Haggar and the prince traveled with an escort consisting of a destroyer and a small contingent of fighters. These vessels were fast, but the destroyer unfortunately lacked the proper facilities to deploy a robeast; the speed in which the operation would be executed would make the need for one unnecessary, however. The escort remained hidden in a nearby asteroid field while the two of them continued on in single-person transport ships to the verdant, unassuming world. They landed while darkness still reigned in the sky, and remained in hiding as daylight at last broke through the horizon. After a time, the festival, which appeared to be some sort of celebration for a particular flower, finally commenced. Allura eventually put in an appearance as the officiating noble, gliding in on the prow of a large boat along the ponderous lake that surrounded the Castle of Lions. The Voltron Force members, including that damnable Commander Kogane, stood behind her, acting as her retinue. Predictably, Lotor felt his eyes become drawn towards the figure of the Princess of Arus before ultimately settling on Kogane with a glare.

The Black Lion pilot seemed to have a talent for living when it was least convenient; he had also repeatedly proven to be an all-around nuisance. The Drule prince did not like the manner in which he constantly hovered around Allura; virtually everyone around her was protective of her, but the commander seemed to take it a step above and beyond what was called for. Incredibly, the princess not only tolerated being touched so presumptuously by a commoner, but she also seemed to reciprocate it, behaving with an unseemly familiarity towards him. Lotor did not know if she felt anything more than a platonic affection for Kogane, but if she did, then she was gravely mistaken; how could she possibly think the commander worthy of her, and not him? He could almost understand her rejection of him when he had sought to enslave her, for she would have lost not only her freedom, but also her station and associated privileges. Her refusal to marry him, however, had stunned him.

It had been an impulsive move on Lotor's part, but it was an offer he had never made to anyone before, always assuming his father would pick out someone with an appropriate background for him. Hopefully, they would also have a pleasant appearance and disposition, but if not, then he would have always been able to retreat into the sanctuary of his harem, so long as he did his duty with his chosen wife and sired an heir or two. In Allura, though, he realized he would have all three of these things, and the beauty of it all was that the act of wedding her would end the war, assimilate the alien technology of Voltron into his arsenal, and complete Planet Doom's domination of the Denubian Galaxy, all with a single move.

It was more than that, though; the daughter of King Alfor had left an indelible impression on him when he had first seen her. It was not necessarily her physical appearance, which had been shockingly and devastatingly beautiful, but more that the sight of her had instantaneously dredged up memories that he had not even known were his, memories that he would have sworn were of her, but felt like they had occurred years ago. This was an impossibility, of course, since he had never before laid eyes on her, but it felt as if they had met one another a lifetime ago. This sense of disconcerting familiarity had slowly niggled away at his thoughts to the point where she began to occupy them outside of battle, and this had disturbed him because he had been starting to think of her as something more than just a strategic weakness in Voltron to exploit. The more he had tried to wrest this idea from his head, the worse it had become; no one had ever been able to get under his skin quite like this. Invariably, the growing frustration and fascination he had harbored towards this woman who was supposed to be his enemy eventually manifested into a grudging respect for her, as well as a strange desire to be with her.

When he had offered her the great honor of being his bride, she had unbelievably spurned him, a lone voice of dissent in what had previously been a sea of generally unanimous feminine approval. Besides delivering a tremendous blow to his pride, her unbelievable rejection had also genuinely confused him. There was no logic to it; Allura would not only be a queen, but she would be the empress of a galactic empire. She would be able to see that Doom expanded its territory, not out of a particular love of war, although it was certainly profitable, but because it was divine providence. It was the nature of the universe shrunk down to a smaller scale. The weak made way for the strong, and the strong ruled over the weak; just as the Doom Empire served the Gods, the lesser races would serve the empire as it shaped the fate of the galaxy. The worlds who voluntarily submitted to Doom's rule were rewarded for their submission, while those who resisted what had already been predetermined were punished. It was simply an unfortunate circumstance that the planets that were rewarded numbered far fewer than those that had to be taught the errors of their ways. Arus had been such a one, and had suffered immensely for the consequences of its then monarch's rash decision. Allura could have remedied that mistake and used the almost incalculable wealth and power that would be at her fingertips as his wife to rebuild her home from the ground up, his wedding gift to her.

Instead, she had chosen to ignore his ridiculously generous proposition and opted to continue eking out an insubstantial existence from the ruins of her father's blunder, buoyed on by misplaced faith and a naive belief that she could delay and even reverse the inevitable. It was part of what charmed him about her, and while he respected her bravery and strength to adhere to her convictions, her almost childish stubbornness chafed at him. Yes, she had Voltron, and while the mecha was a dangerous adversary, in the end, it would prove a mere rut in Doom's road to progress. It was becoming clear to him that they were meant to be together; why was it so difficult for her to see the same thing and that he was the best option she was ever going to get? Did he repulse her so much that she was willing to be a hypocrite, claiming to be willing to do anything for her people, yet steadfastly refusing the one solution that could save them all? She was fated to be either his slave or his empress, and he had hoped that she would take the time to arrive at the correct decision after her initial refusal of him, but, astonishingly, she had not, and it was her people who were paying the price for her defiance. In order to set her in the place where she was supposed to be, the Princess of Arus was making him resort to increasingly drastic measures, such as this latest plan.

As always, Allura was lovely when she stepped off of the boat and approached the raised platform that had been set up for her so that she could be seen by everyone in the crowds when she spoke her words to them. The sunlight that filtered through the overhanging vegetation dappled her wheat-hued tresses, which cascaded down her back for the occasion, as she ascended the platform steps, her exquisite features a mask of serenity. The rose-colored dress she had chosen to don for the celebration draped her trim form elegantly, neither hiding nor displaying the outline of her body beneath it. She was an unlikely pillar of strength for Arus and a symbol of hope for all those who would wish to overthrow the yoke of the Doom Empire, but this was merely a foolish, if not courageous, dream. Just as rebellion would not set Arus free, only surrender, she would find that her only real salvation lay in her submission to him. Even if she did not warm to him right away, she would eventually realize that his hand had been forced and would forgive him, returning his love in time.

Just as she was about to ascend the final step, an almost imperceptible blue blur swept past her, giving off a momentary metallic glint in the overhead sunlight. A surprised cry escaped Allura's lips, and then the curious blur suddenly vanished. She began to fall over, the toxin's effects on her immediate.

The Prince Imperial of Doom winced inwardly, a slight regret filling him for a moment as he thought, ..._I am sorry it had to come this, beloved, but this is for your own good... this was the only way_...

Before she was able to hit the ground, however, a bystander thankfully caught her in their arms mid-collapse. An alarm was raised among the crowds, the mood suddenly becoming confused and panicked.

Lotor's attention abruptly turned from the impending bedlam to the isolated location that he and Haggar had staked out. The witch's familiar had arrived, the distinctive feline trotting around the bend with a small knife in his mouth. Oddly, there was no blood on the blade. As soon as the cat came near, he dropped the tainted knife into the waiting palm of the sorceress and sat down on his cerulean-furred haunches, a smug look on his angular face.

"You have done well, Coba," she smiled, an appreciative expression on her withered countenance as she pocketed the weapon; she then hunched over and briefly scratched her familiar behind the ears, eliciting a pleased sound from the feline.

The witch then turned back to Zarkon's son, taking note of his apprehension. "The deed is done, Sire, and now we must wait."

And so they waited. The desire to simply swoop in and claim his hard-won prize was nearly overwhelming, but the light feeling of Haggar's sharpened fingertips on his right arm calmed his anxiety somewhat. He realized now that the reason behind his unprecedented string of defeats was not necessarily because of a newfound incompetence, but rather because he had allowed this irrationality that Allura just seemed to bring out in him to overcome his calculating nature. He had not lost his desire to defeat Voltron and claim his birthright, but had instead obtained an additional one: to make the fiery Princess of Arus his wife. Their lives had become so impossibly entangled together that there was no way this future was _not_ meant to be. He no longer felt as embarrassed by this desire, for it was now a need, but he had not handled it particularly well, and the novelty of it all still confounded him.

A full day had elapsed before Allura at last fully entered the state of suspended animation that had been forced upon her. The sound of church bells heralded her fictitious demise, ringing discordantly from the spires of the royal cathedral in the distance. Lotor could almost hear the words in the doleful noise, "The heiress apparent Princess Allura Sofia Leonaire, daughter of High King Alfor Alexander Leonaire, is now dead."

Since the princess had been the last direct descendant of Alfor, her seat would undoubtedly pass to her aunt, a lesser queen of the nearby Arusian principality of Helena; she was the sister of Allura's mother and the next in line for the planetary throne. The strategist in the prince knew that this monarchical upheaval would be the perfect opportunity to snuff out any hopes for an independent Arus once and for all, but securing his future bride was his primary objective right now, and doing so would accomplish the same goal in end anyways. In the unlikely event that things turned sour, the princess could also be used as a bargaining chip for the Lions; it would be a difficult move for him to make, but he could return for her at a later time, and the absence of the mechanized guardian would make the task that much easier to accomplish. There was no doubt in Lotor's mind that she or her Prime Minister would have anticipated something like this possibly happening and would have forbidden any negotiations with Doom if she were ever to be taken hostage, but he was sure that the soft hearts of the Arusian populace would cave in order to save the last surviving child of their much venerated king.

After a time, a funerary procession, led by an equine-drawn hearse, left the cathedral and began to wind its way toward the Castle of Lions. Anticipating the path of travel, the prince and the witch reconvened at the top of a narrow pass the procession would be forced to go through and set their ambush. Inhaling sharply, Haggar shot a carefully aimed blast of supernatural energy at a nearby boulder that was perched precariously close to an edge, causing a landslide which sent rubble raining down on the mourners as they ventured near. The people naturally panicked and retreated from the falling rocks, becoming separated from the less maneuverable carriage and the now-frantic beast that drew it in the process. Suddenly rearing, the terrified animal threw its driver to the ground and bolted away, setting off on the closest path leading away from the calamity while still dragging the hearse behind it. As it was about to pass below him, Lotor narrowed his felinoid eyes in concentration and launched himself from his hiding place, timing his jump so that he landed hard on the runaway vehicle. He immediately took the reins, and the alarmed equine calmed somewhat upon recognizing the firm touch of a master.

This was the moment of truth.

Their presence was now known, and they would need to be swift. The prince cracked the reins and started to drive the beast towards the direction of their transport ships, sweat beading his azure brow. The remaining members of the Voltron Force were undoubtedly heading towards their Lions; while four Lions alone did not make Voltron, they would be more than a match for a single destroyer and a small squadron. Spurred on by this thought, he cracked the reins again and forced the creature to move even faster. Haggar would meet with him before they departed Arus, and they would reunite with their hidden escort before speeding away to Doom. After a few minutes, Lotor sensed movement; from the corner of his eye, he could make out a body struggling against the side of the hearse.

..._Damnation! It's one of them!_...

In an unexpected maneuver, one of the Voltron Force pilots had managed to break through the witch's barricade of rock and latch onto the underside of the carriage before the beast drawing it had made its escape. The youth, whom he identified as Darrel Stoker based upon his short stature, clambered to the top of the vehicle and attempted to force him to pull over, but he failed in the end, and his impressive dexterity was not enough to prevent his being thrown off. To Lotor's consternation, the bespectacled pilot still clung to the end of the hearse with a burr-like tenacity. Narrowing his gaze, he jerked on the reins and forced the lathered equine to come to a ragged halt, causing plumes of dust to momentarily rise from the earth. It didn't matter if the boy refused to let go; they had already arrived at the ships, and he would use this opportunity to permanently remove one of the Voltron Force members from the equation.

The prince leapt off of the carriage and drew his sword, advancing on the offending pilot; while he did have a laser blaster in a hidden holster, a hand weapon would suffice for close-quarter combat, and the weapon he excelled at handling in particular was a blade. Incredibly, the boy charged him, despite being weaponless and hopelessly outmatched.

"Have it your way!" Lotor hissed, rushing to meet him.

Stoker dodged the initial sword thrust, but was unable to avoid colliding with the Prince Imperial of Doom's superior bulk. His smaller frame was sent crashing to the ground, but before the prince could rend him in half, Haggar abruptly arrived with her familiar dashing after her. The young pilot used this split-second distraction to roll over and jump to his feet, angrily glaring at the both of them, but unsure of what move to make now that he was outnumbered.

"Sire, do not waste your time on him," the sorceress panted, her narrow chest rising and falling with slight exertion, "Get the princess and go! She is the priority! I will hold him back."

As if on cue, a synthetic roar sounded in the distance, although none of the Lions were yet visible in the skyline. Lotor squared his jaw in frustration, but harshly nodded at her and sheathed his sword before hurrying over to the end of the hearse. After opening the doors in the back, he partially hauled out the heavy casket and lifted the lid, his pulse quickening when the form of Allura was revealed to him. Her complexion was paler than usual, and her hands were drawn together as if in prayer. Even in simulated death, she was radiant, but it still bothered him to see her like this. Wasting no time, he gently extricated her body from the confines of the casket and gathered her up into his arms. He marveled again at the lightness of her, knowing that her deceptively fragile body housed the heroism and valor of a warrior. This slip of a girl had been able to almost single-handedly defy the Doom Empire, her bravery like wildfire to the other oppressed planets. Again, the idea of changing the natural order of things was nothing more than a fantasy, but those very qualities, once properly redirected, would make her into a phenomenal empress.

His prize in hand, Lotor began to quickly pace toward his vessel until a sharp gasp from the witch made him halt and look back. The Green Lion pilot, already bruised, burnt, and bloodied, was pursuing them again, this time clutching something in his hands. The prince witnessed him bring the object, still hidden in his grasp, to his mouth and bite it. When his hands were brought back down and a pin was held by his teeth, it was apparent that the boy had an explosive and was delaying the conflagration it would cause by holding down on the handle; upon release, an internal signal would cause the striker to come into contact with the percussion cap. He spit out the pin and advanced on them once more.

"You fool, you will kill yourself as well as us!" Zarkon's heir roared at him, his grip tightening on the prone body of the princess as he began to cautiously back away towards the transport ships.

"My life doesn't matter, but the death of you two will bring the galaxy this much closer to being free of the tyranny of Doom!"

"You would condemn her to the same fate then?" the prince challenged, revealing the princess to be alive as he continued in his retreat, Haggar following his example.

The former space explorer's hateful expression briefly faltered before his mouth tightened into a thin line. "There will always be someone to lead Arus, and we will find a way to form Voltron once more! I know for a fact that the princess would rather die than suffer the fate you intend for her!"

"You know nothing of my intentions for her!" Lotor spat out, furiously glaring at him.

"If you don't let her go, I'm going to detonate this thing and kill us all anyways! NOW PUT HER DOWN!"

The dark prince evaluated the youth even as he continued to move in the direction of the vessels, trying to determine the validity of his claim. While he didn't doubt that Stoker would sacrifice his own life for the greater good, there was no way he would willfully end Allura's - she was too treasured. It was a bluff, albeit a dangerous one, but there was no way to call him out on it, not with so much on the line. The explosive was real and primed, his hands were full, and Haggar, while powerful, would not be able to deflect the explosion with how close Stoker was to them. What was more, the outlines of the remaining Lions could now be seen in the far distance.

"Sire, you must let her go," the sorceress spoke with a quiet urgency, "We might be able to deal with the boy, but we will not be able to contend with the Lions; if we remain here any longer, they will surely get here before we are able to leave."

The prince, never taking his eyes from the advancing pilot, scowled. He hated to admit to it, but she was right.

"We must go now, Sire."

"Fine," he ground out before directly addressing the pilot, "I'm putting her down..."

In contrast to his brutal demeanor, the Prince Imperial of Doom lightly placed the princess' body on the ground and then backed away from it. When he and the witch were a sufficient distance away from Allura and near their ships, the Green Lion pilot issued forth another fierce yell and began to run towards them, still brandishing the explosive. Swearing under his breath, Lotor hastened his steps and threw himself into the interior of his craft, quickly closing the hatch and entering in the launch sequence; he knew the witch would be right behind him. The Lions were not here quite yet, but they would be closing in, and right now they both needed all the time they could get in order to successfully evacuate.

Lotor felt the rumble of the engines igniting, and the ship rose into the air. Within a few minutes, he approached the atmosphere and typed in the coordinates for their escort group. Lotor clenched his teeth in frustration; he had been so close... but all of their careful planning had been for naught. Yes, they had escaped with their lives, but the afterthought rang hollow. This had been his last chance... at least as far as his father was concerned. He would not accept his decision, however; just as he was destined to rule the Doom Empire, the daughter of Alfor was fated to be his wife. He had been toying with the idea of overthrowing the emperor at some point in the future through the fortune and support he had amassed during his time at the Academy and his subsequent deployment, but he now realized that he would most likely need to speed the process up a bit if he were to ever do so. There was no way he was going to wed Princess Corrall, but his father would hear no more of Allura from him; if he were to, he would probably kill her just to teach him one of his many infamous lessons, and the prince would not allow that to happen. Sighing angrily, he shifted his large frame within the cramped space of the vessel, attempting to find a comfortable position to lie in, before turning off the harsh overhead lighting. His saffron eyes soon adjusted to the soft glow emanating from the instrument panels.

After a time, an encrypted voice channel originating from sorceress' craft opened up for him.

"Yes?" he inquired tiredly.

"Sire... I realize that I forewarned you of the possibility of this mission not succeeding, but... I still want to apologize. I should have anticipated something like this happening, but I failed you."

Lotor clenched his jaws tightly together. "Yes, you did warn me, Haggar. There is no need for an apology, though; I understood that this was a gamble from the beginning. As you are always saying, the loss of a battle does not constitute the loss of a war."

It was if she wanted to say more, but the Drule prince sighed heavily and interrupted her before she could do so.

"I appreciate the gesture, but I don't wish to discuss it any further. I need to figure out how I am going to deal with the fallout of this situation, and there may be other matters that I will need to prepare for."

A thoughtful silence pervaded the channel before Haggar spoke again. "Understood, Sire. If you still desire to keep our arrangement, then you shall have my support... for whatever matters you will undertake."

The comm link was then severed. Despite the smoldering anger and embarrassment he still felt, as well as the knowledge of the difficulty he would face upon his return to Doom, a calculating half-smile still managed to flit across Lotor's face in the darkness.


	14. The End of Us, Ch 14

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**The End of Us, Ch. 14**

After what seemed like a lifetime, the prince imperial and the sorceress finally arrived back on Planet Doom, unnoticed for the most part. The receiving party that ushered in their vessels was small, which Lotor was privately glad for. There was no doubt that his father had already heard of what had transpired on Arus and was presently putting the final touches on the arrangement between him and Emperor Taral, but if he had not deemed it worthwhile to gloat in person right away, then it was probable that he would not bother him for at least a couple of days. The prince's mood was still foul, and he did not feel like dealing with anyone else but Haggar or his personal slaves for a while. He also needed time to think. Wasting no time, he stalked through the maze of hallways that wormed their way through Castle Doom like grandiose burrows until he finally arrived at the entrance to his personal quarters. The armed imperial guards that stood at attention at the doorway swept him stiff, militaristic bows, which he acknowledged with a curt nod. When they faced away from him once more, he discreetly keyed the portal open and then entered his suite of rooms.

As the metallic doors slid shut, he knew right away that something was amiss. Neither Da'vae, Naya, or Mavu were where they usually reclined when he did not require their services or was absent, nor did they appear to be in any of the other rooms, judging on the silence and the lack of light. Slanting his felinoid eyes, Lotor slowly drew out his sword and pressed himself against the wall as he began to make a silent circuit around his opulent quarters, intent on checking and clearing each room before moving onto the next. It was unlikely an assassination attempt or a trap, but there was no way of being certain. It was interesting that his guards had given no indication that someone, presumably unauthorized, had entered his sanctum.

As he worked his way around a small hallway in particular, he could see a soft light emanating from his open bedchamber. Sidling up to a corner, the prince leaned ever so slightly over until he could make out the outline of a person, or persons rather, lounging regally on his bed.

..._What the hell_...

He recognized the crimson and black raiment of the Princess of Demos, as well as the lighter-colored garb of her handmaidens. Narrowing his gaze even more, he stepped out from his hiding place and pointed his weapon towards the trespassers.

"You don't belong in here," he uttered angrily, the sight of Corrall bringing back unwelcome memories of his most recent attempt at getting close to the one he truly belonged with.

Her handmaidens, one positioned on each side of her, gasped as he revealed his presence and shrunk back slightly, but the princess straightened out and examined him fearlessly, simpering, he imagined, underneath her thick veil. She then inclined her head to her right, prompting the servant on that side, a shorter female with coppery tresses in an upswept style that revealed subtly pointed ears, for something. The maiden hesitated before speaking in what he presumed was the Demosian language. Corrall seemed to dwell on what was said to her before she turned her avid red eyes back on him. Raising a delicate hand towards her veil, she removed it and revealed her comely face.

She purred out something nonsensical, galvanizing the titian-haired handmaiden to rise from the bed and translate her words. "Her Radiance wishes to welcome you back home, Master."

Lotor was taken aback, making him momentarily forget his ire. Since when did they speak Drule? Thinking back on their meeting prior to his trip to Arus and recalling what he had said, the prince curled his lip wryly as he lowered his arm and sheathed his sword, but he did not drop his guard. The fact that they had concealed their knowledge of the Drule language suggested that they might also be hiding something else.

"How did you get in here, and where are my slaves?" he inquired doubtfully.

Lyrical chatter was exchanged between the two women before the servant addressed him once more, all the while keeping her eyes pointed downward.

"Master, Her Radiance says that like you, she is not without her wiles. Her Radiance also says that your females are safe behind the walls of your harem with the rest of the chattel."

The Prince Imperial of Doom skeptically arched a pale eyebrow at the statement. They most likely sucked someone's cock in order to gain entrance to the harem, and from there accessed his quarters via the concealed passage that connected the two facilities together. His slaves had probably been cowed into the harem space and then locked in so that the Demosian women would be alone with him when he finally came back. Wiles, indeed.

Sighing tiredly, Lotor leaned heavily against the wall, his scrutiny of them never relaxing. "What does she want?"

More noise ensued, and then the girl replied, "Master, Her Radiance-"

He felt impatience welling up within him and fought the urge to roll his eyes. "This is taking too long. Skip with the titles, and get to the damn point."

She looked agog at him before coloring and examining the floor again. "Yes, Ma-... S-She says that she heard about your loss. She says it is regretful that a slave has caused you such misery and defeat."

The handmaiden's tremulous words rattled the dark prince somewhat, for they confirmed his prior suspicions that the three knew much more than they had let on in the beginning and suggested the presence of Demosian spies on Doom, which did not sit well with him. The fact that Corrall also knew about his interest in the Arusian princess and dared to judge him on it when she was well outside of her rights to do so angered him further still.

Removing his large frame from the wall, he folded his arms across his chest and growled, "Get out."

The terse message was quickly conveyed, but rather than making as if to head back the way they had come, Emperor Taral's daughter merely rose to her feet, a small moue of disappointment on her painted lips. The handmaiden to her left, a female with blonde hair plaited into looping braids, similarly stood up with her, but did nothing but maintain a respectful pose next to her mistress; evidently, she also lacked the brunette's capability of speaking Drule. Corrall tilted her head slightly to one side, coquetting as she seemed to consider him for a moment. She said something in that dulcet tone of hers, which was then translated for his benefit.

"Her- She says she only wishes to offer you comfort before the time to become of one flesh and unite the empires of Demos and Doom at last arrives," the girl reported softly as she continued in her inspection of the floor.

Lotor returned his gaze to Corrall and glared. There was a seemingly benevolent expression on her attractive features, but there was also a hunger in her scarlet eyes that he disliked. She was no longer displaying the insipid pliancy he had detected in their initial encounter, but was now instead revealing that she had an artful mind with an eye for opportunity. She seemed a woman greatly capable of ruling an empire as cutthroat as Doom's, but he didn't really care. She was deceitful and presumptuous, daring to hide information from him, invade his personal space as if it were her own, and most likely mistreat his property. Most of all, she felt herself capable of even beginning to comprehend the tumultuous, back-and-forth relationship between him and the Princess of Arus and free to comment so dismissingly on it when no one but his father, and perhaps Haggar, dared to criticize him for it; his father, he could ignore, and the witch, he could forgive, for she truly did have his, as well as the empire's, best interest at heart, but Corrall was overreaching herself. If this was how she was now, there was no telling what she would be like years from now. If they were to marry, it was just as likely that he would wake up one day with a knife in his back and Taral Zin's colors flying from the palace ramparts. No, it would not matter if she were fairer than Allura or endowed with even more wealth than she already had, he would not take this poison dagger-tipped blossom of Demos to wife.

..._I wonder if Father is even aware of this nest of vipers he has invited in and taken to his breast_...

"There will be no 'becoming of one flesh,' and you three are going to go home. Now get out before I have the guards throw you out like a bunch of unruly whores."

Blushing once more, the handmaiden turned and relayed the blunt words to Corrall, who abruptly turned ashen and then shot him an angry look, her fiery eyes blazing. She bit out a couple of choice words in Demosian which required no translation. She then spun around, fuming, and began to pace towards the concealed passage, her sanguine gown and hair swaying in time to her furious steps. Like trained canines, the brunette and the blonde joined her. After a few strides, however, the princess paused in her movements and faced him once more. She was still clearly upset, but her eyes had once again assumed a calculating edge.

She made a curious gesture in the air with one hand as she voiced a statement with a raised inflection at the end, indicating a question. The servant with knowledge of the Drule language spoke again.

"She desires to know if you harbor any emotions for this slave."

The displeasure in the Prince Imperial of Doom skyrocketed at this brazen inquiry.

"What I feel or don't feel for her does not concern her," he ground out, "And she is treading on very dangerous ground right now."

Corrall contemplated his words when they were repeated back to her in her tongue, and soon formulated a response that was given to him by the handmaiden.

"She says that your answer to her question indicates much. She desires to know if this particular slave can compare to her."

Before he could even respond to her audacious statement, the princess stepped back and raised both of her arms to her curvaceous sides, an imperious look on her face. Without missing a beat, the maiden who had been translating retreated back to join the other one, whom had remained eerily silent the entire time, the two of them settling alongside either side of their mistress. They deftly fingered the ties that held her curiously designed dress together, and within moments, the silken garment pooled to the ground. Lotor's gaze widened in shock as Corral stepped aside from the fallen remains of her garb and looked at him haughtily.

The Princess of Demos had large breasts that jutted out proudly and whose rosy tips were pierced and embellished with small emerald-looking gemstones, matching the hue of her serpentine diadem. Similar stones winked in the overhead light from her naval and the flame-colored thatch of down between her legs. A thin, golden chain interspersed with the same type of jewel, albeit on a tinier scale, lined her flat abdomen and connected all of the strange piercings together, while another chain followed her narrow waistline and met with the other at the naval piercing. Foreign-appearing designs ran along both sides of her ribcage, emphasizing her slimness, and terminated at her shapely buttocks. Her limbs were rather bare by comparison, but the tops of her feet were adorned by thick anklets, which had several small chains running from them and connecting to rings on all of her toes. Corrall's unabashed presentation of herself and her alien body adornment was actually quite appealing in a strange way, and despite himself, Lotor felt himself beginning to react. Clearing his throat, he shifted his body slightly to one side so she wouldn't notice, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she had had an effect on him.

After a few moments of allowing him to drink in the view of her, the princess then looked away as if to grant his eyes a temporary reprieve from the glorious sight of her. Although her gaze was no longer directed at him, her subsequent words were, her tone autocratic. The brunette stepped forwards again, temporarily forgetting the prince's prior request to cut to the chase in her translations.

"Master, Her Radiance is of the most ancient and noble house on Demos, and her blood is divine," she intoned reverently, her hands clasped together in front of her waist, "Her Ra- She would like to know if this slave has the same beauty, presence, and power that she possesses."

The mere mention of the Princess of Arus brought her image to Lotor's mind. He briefly pictured her in the manner that Corrall had so provactively displayed herself, and he felt his erection harden completely. He had his preferences, but it would not be fair to compare the two women, for they were both beautiful; they were simply beautiful in different ways. Whereas Emperor Taral's daughter was voluptuous, Allura had a willowier frame, her physical attributes more petite. His thoughts returning to Alfor's daughter, he sighed inwardly. He was not yet completely comfortable with his feelings for the Arusian princess, but he still fervently wished that she did not have such a powerful hold over him, the mere thought of her eliciting an almost immediate reaction from him.

Exhaling once more, he changed his stance yet again in order to conceal his erection. He was not embarrassed by his arousal, but it had occurred at an inconvenient time, and he did not intend on entering into any type of arrangement with Corrall. The princess seemed to notice his discomfort, turning her head back to face him. A triumphant and seductive smile graced her pleasant features.

Sweet-sounding words left her mouth, prompting the handmaiden to say, "She sees that her doubts about this slave appear to have been correct."

The Demosian princess began to advance on him, her generous endowments jiggling enticingly, but her words and assumptions irritated him greatly. He made a prohibitive motion with one hand, which made her cease in her steps.

"She presumes much," he spat, anger quickly displacing his arousal, "She is correct in that there is no basis for comparison, for there is no comparison between them. Now get her dressed, unless she desires to be mistaken for a slave on your way back out."

It was now Corrall's turn to be incensed. After listening to her servant's report, she narrowed her scarlet eyes at him and spat out something, the venom in her voice altering the melodious sound of the Demosian leaving her lips.

Accordingly, the handmaiden with the burnished hair articulated her mistress' meaning. "She wants to know if this slave you have been acting so foolishly over is worth throwing away the opportunity to expand your empire and have your heirs be the descendants of gods."

Lotor arrogantly turned his head to the side as he stifled a momentary laugh, his contempt for her ludicrous claim temporarily easing his temper. It was one thing to be favored by the Gods, but to postulate kinship with them was blasphemously pretentious.

"You speak of matters you know nothing of," he sneered.

The Demosian princess became defensive, proudly drawing herself up as she rebutted his insolence.

"She says that her bloodline can be traced back hundreds of years to when the mighty Zinvanos, the highmost God, deigned it worthy to breathe his essence into a mortal woman and have her bear his divine children; the son of a slave and glorified space pirate cannot begin to understand this glory."

The Prince Imperial of Doom abruptly stormed over to the where the trio stood until he stood face to face with Taral Zin's daughter, who was quickly coming to the realization that she had perhaps crossed some sort of line.

"You tell this slut that she can invent whatever bullshit she wants about a god fucking one of her predecessors, but if she dares to slur my ancestry or my empire one more time, then emissary or no, princess or no, I will kill her," he snarled, putting a hand on his sheathed weapon as if to hammer his threat further home, "My pedigree may not be as illustrious as she claims hers is, but my father seized this galaxy and carved an empire from it, making it _my_ birthright, and I have since expanded it... Do not presume to come into my home and insinuate that I am somehow not entitled to it because of a little human blood in me, for you will find that I _am_ entitled to it on grounds of both right and ability!"

Taken aback by his harsh-sounding words, Corrall still did not falter from where she stood, even though her eyes showed fear. Quaking, the handmaiden relayed his fierce message to her. The princess was still angry over his earlier remark, but she blanched when she finally understood what he had just said to her. She managed a small, self-deprecating bow before stiffly uttering a short statement.

"Master, Her Radiance regrets her words as they were said in the heat of the moment and without forethought," the brunette communicated softly, "Accordingly, she would request your forgiveness for both her words and assumptions. She is now inclined to agree that perhaps her father as well as yours were mistaken in their idea that this was the correct time to forge an alliance between Demos and Doom."

Stepping back away from her, Lotor grimly nodded, agreeing with the Demosian princess for once. Assuming a detached air, the angry redhead allowed both of her servants to redress her. Her nudity soon covered, she offered one more wooden bow of respect to him.

"Come," he ordered.

Zarkon's heir then guided the women in awkward silence from his bedchamber and back towards the receiving area of his quarters. After opening the main door, he grabbed one of the guards that was on watch outside.

"Ensure that the Princess of Demos and her ladies are safely escorted to their rooms, and I may forgive the fact that one of your men was lax in their duties and permitted unauthorized entry to someone," he ground out, "That's an order."

"As you wish, Sire," the Drule male intoned as he offered up an apologetic bow, his face wavering somewhat; he did not know if he had just dodged a bullet, or would be disciplined for his failings later on.

Inclining his head respectfully towards the princess and her entourage, the guard then proceeded to usher them in the appropriate direction towards their rooms.

Returning to the interior of his quarters, Lotor sighed heavily and brought both of his hands to his head in order to rub at his temples. In one move, he had managed to fix a problem of his, but he had also managed to create a new one for himself; in effect, he had merely exchanged one for the other. He was rid of Princess Corrall, but his father would come down on him hard for breaking up an alliance he had worked hard to create. Contrary to Haggar's warning, he did not believe that Taral Zin would sacrifice any of his military offense in order to avenge the rejection of one of his daughters. He did, however, believe that he would have eventually tried to use the marriage as a way to infiltrate the heart of the Doom Empire and usurp its power. It was more of a suspicion, really, but his misgivings usually proved correct.

His mind then turned to his ousted females. Da'vae, Naya, and Mavu were most likely still in the harem facilities. As one of the perks to being his personal slaves, they got to enjoy the privacy and comfort of residing in his quarters while the rest had to make do with the more public, but not disagreeable, space of the harem. They would be fine staying there for the night, however; he would retrieve them in the morning. This thought in mind, he paced towards his sidebar and poured himself a drink. Moving towards his couch, he sat down tiredly and brought the glass to his lips.

He would need to speak to Haggar soon, for much had transpired in the past few days, and they had much to discuss.


	15. The End of Us, Ch 15

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**Author's Note: **Holy flaming chapters, Batman! I did not expect to produce so much output in such a short time. Again, I'm glad that you guys have liked what I've done so far; your comments have given me more confidence about this piece!

**The End of Us, Ch. 15**

Haggar was within her quarters, making preparations to go to bed, when she was soon interrupted by an expectant knock at her door. Knowing at once who it was, the sorceress sighed and gestured dismissively with one hand towards the portal, fully expecting a belated tongue lashing for her failure to foresee the unexpected actions that the Green Lion pilot had taken to foil their scheme. To be honest, she was also getting used to the odd hours the prince imperial seemed to keep and chose to call on her.

As Lotor entered, she was surprised to see him looking thoughtful rather than angry.

"Sire," she inclined her head towards him as the door hissed shut behind him, "Is there a matter that you wished to discuss?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," he spoke as he paced towards her and then sat down in one of her seats, "I've had a very interesting night."

"Sire?" Haggar replied questioningly; if he was not referring to the mission on Arus, then what was he talking about?

The prince leaned back into the upholstered chair, his golden eyes unreadable. "I found Corrall hiding in my rooms after we came back."

"What? The rooms that she and her ladies were housed in were guarded, Sire," the witch protested incredulously, referring to the guards that had been posted there to both safeguard the princess as well as watch her.

She then grabbed at her staff and moved to join Zarkon's heir, sitting her bony posterior down on a nearby seat.

"Oh, no, she was most definitely in my bedchamber," he snorted, "I had one of my own guards escort them back and watch them to make sure that they stayed there. She knew how to find where I lived, where we were at, and what we had been doing. She also knew about my... relationship with Allura," he then leaned forward, a bemused look on his sculptured features, "Did you know that one of them could also speak Drule?"

"What?" the witch repeated, her gaze narrowing, "No, Sire, I did not know that."

"Neither did I," he laughed slightly, moving a gloved hand to demonstrate his surprise at this revelation, "She tried to seduce me, and then insulted the Doom Empire as well as my parentage when her attempt did not succeed. I think it goes without saying that our engagement ended as quickly as it began."

Haggar's eyes abruptly widened. "So it's over then?"

"Yes. At dawn, she and her staff will be leaving for Demos."

She pursed her thin lips into a momentary frown as she took all of this information in. There was the possibility that Taral Zin would retaliate for Lotor sending Corrall back to him in this manner, but it was more likely that the roughly equivalent power of the Doom Empire would act as a stalemate to the strength of Demos. Whatever its ruler felt for his daughter, he probably would not subject so many of his assets to potential destruction over something so... petty, for lack of a better word. While it was true that Doom was currently locked in its own battle with Voltron, it still had enough firepower to hold off an invasion attempt from an outside source long enough for the instigator to become disheartened. Zarkon would not be pleased, however. He would have had to work very hard to woo someone the likes of Emperor Taral into forming an alliance with him. At best, the Demosian monarch would cease giving him the time of day for this affront.

"Sire, what will you tell your father?" she asked him suddenly.

"Well, Corrall's words and actions strongly indicate the proximity of Demosian spies. Who's to say that she wasn't in my quarters to try and take my life? I also got the distinct impression that her father would have used her presence on Doom as a way to aggressively absorb our empire into his own at some point in the future. I don't like that idea very much, and I doubt my father would, either."

The witch sharpened her gaze on the dark prince's seated form. "While I agree that the presence of spies is highly probable, that's a very serious accusation, Sire. Have you any proof?"

He shrugged his shoulders in an almost cavalier manner. "Nothing definitive. It's more of a feeling, but my instincts have rarely steered me wrong. In this case, however, don't you think that it would be far better to be proactive rather than reactive?"

She was silent for a moment after his response to her question. Despite his surprisingly relaxed attitude, given their most recent experience on Arus, he did have a point. Sighing, Haggar reclined back into her chair as she attempted to think of ways to mitigate the damage Corrall's departure will have undoubtedly wrought.

"I have no idea what we're going to tell Emperor Taral," she posed deploringly.

Lotor shrugged once more. "Irreconcilable differences. It's my father's problem now."

"Perhaps, Sire, but that does not mean we will not have to deal with it in some manner. This is a delicate situation that can blow up in our faces if not handled correctly," the witch cautioned him.

"I know this," the prince acknowledged, his tone becoming more sober, "The more immediate problem is my father. He will find out soon, and will want answers from me. Undoubtedly, he will think that I have done this solely out of my desire to be with Allura, which isn't necessarily true, as I have told you. I will need you to have my back when this happens."

Unsure of what to think of his request, Haggar automatically bobbed her head in assent. "Of course, Sire, consider it done."

"Thank you, Haggar," he intoned as he rose back to his feet from the chair he had been sitting in.

As Lotor stood, he became aware of a fine layer of blue cat hair that had accumulated on the dark pants of the uniform he usually wore. He exhaled heavily and began to brush it off.

The sorceress watched him perform the action with a wry expression on her scarred face. "My apologies, Sire. I tend to forget how much Coba sheds."

Zarkon's son waved a dismissive hand in the air as he finished smoothing out his garb.

He straightened back up and tilted his head towards her in a motion of farewell as well as gratitude. "I will see you again in a few hours."

When Haggar returned his gesture, he proceeded towards her entryway and let himself out. Alone once more, she sighed and hobbled back in the direction of her bedchamber.

* * *

><p>Just as Lotor had predicted, his father's furious yells summoned him to court in the morning.<p>

"My beloved son, I have been brought some most distressing tidings," Zarkon barked at his progeny as he knelt at the foot of the dais that the throne sat upon.

Before the prince imperial could respond, the monarch spat out further angry words. "Would you like to tell me why Princess Corrall is now onboard a shuttle bound for Planet Demos? Would it have something to do with that Arusian slut?"

Once again, before his son could formulate an answer, the Emperor of Doom viciously cut in, his mottled features darkening in fury. "So help me, Lotor, if you say yes, I will have that bitch's head brought before you on a platter, and that's if I _don't_ decide to do anything else."

A sudden rage spiked in the prince at this threat, but, with considerable effort, he was able to keep his face impassive.

"Of course not, Father," he uttered calmly, his words at odds with what he was truly feeling at that moment, "You made yourself very clear before you granted me permission to go to Arus. I made an attempt, it failed, and I swore to uphold the bargain you struck with Demos. You were correct, Princess Corrall is very beautiful, and you did me a kindness in finding me a bride such as her with the connections that she has."

"Yes, and I even told you that you could take Alfor's daughter as your whore if you were still so hot-to-trot for her," Zarkon snarled at his heir, drumming his large fingers along an armrest of the throne, "So, if she is not the reason why you destroyed this alliance that I spent a very long time in creating, then pray tell, what is it really?"

"I had my suspicions of Princess Corrall's worthiness to ascend the throne of the Doom Empire," Lotor said simply.

The emperor's nostrils flared widely at his son's refusal to offer up a more satisfactory explanation for his actions.

"Enlighten me as to why," he ground out dangerously.

"She broke into my quarters, despite being under the watch of armed guards, during my absence, and demonstrated to me that she not only had knowledge of our language, but that she also knew the palace layout as well as key classified information that she should not have had access to. This is a strong indication of Demosian spies on Doom, and she also showed great disrespect for the empire. She even insulted you, Father."

Zarkon's eyes seemed to bulge at this outlandish statement. Before he could form a retort, Haggar rose up from her seat next to him and bowed.

"Sire, what he is saying is true," the sorceress indicated deferentially, "Interrogations of all of the harem slaves, as well as Prince Lotor's personal slaves, revealed that Princess Corrall gained entrance to his quarters last night through the harem facilities."

The Drule monarch momentarily glared at his advisor for her interruption. "Why are you running to his defense now, of all times, witch? Don't think I haven't noticed how close you two have become over the past few months. How do I know that your loyalties don't lie elsewhere now?"

Offended, she bowed once more so that her cowl would conceal her angry expression; always he was so ready to believe a plot on her part!

"I would never betray you, Sire. Before I serve you, I serve the Doom Empire. I would never do anything to endanger Doom's presence in the Denubian Galaxy," she offered stiffly, "I have merely advised the prince as I also advise you. If you doubt my word, then you can speak to your lieutenant who committed the interrogations and wrote up the reports."

Zarkon's glower did not lessen, but he redirected it back downwards to his heir. "What disrespect did she show?"

Lotor raised a pale eyebrow as he looked up at his father's massive figure. "She called you a glorified space pirate."

"WHAT!?"

The thunderous yell reverberated mightily within the throne room, bouncing off of the obsidian-colored walls and sounding far louder than it actually was.

The emperor ground his teeth furiously together at this news. If there was one thing that he hated, it was someone who threatened the legitimacy and stability of the vast empire that he had spent so long, as well as his own blood, sweat, and tears, in creating. If the princess had indeed dared to utter those words to Lotor's face, then that also meant that her father had to have spoken those very same words to her at some point in the past. Emperor Taral condescending to enter into an alliance with someone whom he saw as weak or inferior meant only that he was capitalizing on a perceived opportunity that he would leap upon at a later date. Spies sniffing around merely confirmed this suspicion.

..._Glorified space pirate! I will show them what a glorified space pirate can do!_..., Zarkon thought wrathfully.

However much he desperately wanted to strike fear into the heart of the Demosian emperor right now, he did not have the current resources to do so while he was engaged in this war to re-conquer Arus and complete his dominance over the Denubian Galaxy; if he were to, his resources would be spread out too thinly. It was too bad that the little bitch was already on her way to Demos; she would have been a valuable hostage. The fact she was being sent back home in such a manner should demonstrate his superior cunning to her father well enough, however. When Voltron was finally destroyed, then perhaps he himself would be able to pay a visit to Demos with his fleets and expand the Doom Empire, the old-school way, of course, even further still. This thought pleased the despot immensely, although he was careful not to let this pleasure show on his fearsome visage.

"Very well, my son, I accept your explanation for now, at least," Zarkon articulated, his tone still dangerous, "However, I do not approve of the methods you used. If you had doubts, then you should have come to me first before doing something so drastic. While you may have saved me significant trouble, you also undermined my decrees in doing so. This is not acceptable. Do it again, and the consequences will be dire; this, I promise."

Lotor maintained his respectful affectation. "My apologies, Father. It will not happen again. My immediate thoughts were directed towards the threat posed to us by Demos. In the future, I will do as you command if another situation such as this arises."

As if the act of yelling at his son had taken a toll on him, the emperor leaned back into his throne suddenly and made an underhanded waving motion in the prince's direction. "You're dismissed. Go."

"As you wish, Father," his heir intoned as he rose from his stance at the foot of the golden dais.

He swept a final bow to his father before exiting the throne room. As he did so, a smirk crossed his features and was then gone.


	16. The End of Us, Ch 16

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**Author's Note:** This is a straight-up filler chapter. I am like halfway done with the next chapter, so hopefully that will be out soon. Anyways, I may or may not continue writing Corrall; I probably won't, but I don't like loose ends, nor do I like burning bridges unnecessarily. So, here 'ya go.

**The End of Us, Ch. 16**

Within a few days, Princess Corrall and her staff finally arrived at their destination, the humid and heavily forested planet called Demos.

The princess did not have very long to dwell in the familiar warmth of the outdoors, so different from the bleak chill of Doom, or to enjoy the pleasant smells emanating from the lush gardens that surrounded the main palace, however, for she soon received a summons to attend her father within the throne room. She had known that the confrontation between her and the emperor would be forthcoming upon her return, but she had hoped to have some time to try and forget the mortification she had, and still, felt over the incident that had occurred on the dark planet before she would have to face him; Prince Lotor's rejection of her still stung more than she cared to admit to. She felt her countenance redden as she recalled her poorly chosen words to her former betrothed and how she had been forced to humble herself - she, a daughter of Zinvanos! - before him in order to preserve her life, making her glad that she currently had her veil to shield most of her face from the gazes of everyone around her.

Whatever level of dread Corrall was currently experiencing, it did not matter; a royal summons from the Emperor of Demos could not be denied. With a heavy heart, she refreshed herself within her luxurious rooms before reluctantly making her way towards the location where her father usually held court at. Followed by the faithful presence of her handmaidens, she promenaded with a false bravery through passageways in the palace until she at last arrived at the colossal golden entrance to the throne room.

"Open the doors," she demanded imperiously.

The heavily armored guardsmen on either side of the portal bowed stiffly towards her. "As you wish, Your Radiance."

They then swung open the massive doors, making the entrance gape at the princess like an open maw. The only visible indication of the Princess of Demos silently inhaling a deep breath was a minor indentation in the part of her veil that covered her lips. Steeling herself, she marched into the throne room with her head held high.

The chamber was expansive, with opulent mosaics of scenes and beasts from Demosian mythology covering the floor and walls. It was dim inside compared to the rest of palace interior; torches flickered from sconces and cast shadows that made the serpents on the walls seem to writhe and dance. On one side of the room, water flowed from an opening in the mouth of a dragon on the wall and into a deep pool set into the ground, filling the air with pleasant elemental music. At the far end of the chamber sat the imperial seat, and upon it, Taral Zin, her father. With the exception of his sandal-covered feet, the rest of his seemingly larger-than-life body seemed to be concealed from her by shadow; as she and her retinue came closer, however, more of him was gradually revealed.

The eldest living son of Zinvanos sat slouched back upon his throne, his crimson eyes smoldering; like his daughter, half of his face was obscured by an exquisitely woven veil. Although he reclined his head back on a curled fist, the heavy draconic crown that sat atop his brow did not slide off; his other hand drummed out an idle pattern along one of the armrests. His raiment, although obviously of better quality and made of finer materials, was similar in style to the fashion worn by most Demosion noblemen, a lightweight tunic over loose, breathable pants, but even this could not conceal his powerful build. Over his rich clothing, he wore an embroidered mantle of red and black, which was splayed open to reveal his tall frame. Thick, platinum bands encircled his forearms and biceps, while small hoops of platinum and emerald ran through his subtly pointed ears. His long, flaming hair was pulled back and captured into a low-sitting knot, with the rest of it flowing unseen down his back. Overall, he was imposing, reminiscent of some god pondering whether to punish or reward some mortal upstart.

As was customary, Corrall and her retinue fell to their knees and pressed their foreheads to the ground before their liege.

After a moment, she lifted her head back up and said, "It is my honor to give you greetings, Father. Although the journey back was brief, the absence of your presence made it seem much longer."

After a moment, Taral Zin's deep voice sounded out like a death knell. "All of you, leave us."

It took all of her being not to quiver at her sire's ominous words. As the sounds of her handmaidens' retreating steps echoed behind her, Corrall knew she was alone, truly alone, in facing him and his wrath.

"Come closer, my daughter," he commanded.

"As you wish, Father."

The princess, paling underneath her veil, carefully rose from her kneeling position and resumed it at the monarch's feet after she closed the gap between herself and the throne. She tentatively waited for him to speak.

"When I sent you away, it was to wed the son of Emperor Zarkon and unite the empires of Demos and Doom," Taral spoke, his veil barely moving upon his lips, his red gaze unreadable, "And yet you have returned back to me uncrowned and without the blessing of Doom. Why is that?"

Corrall swallowed. "I- At our first meeting, Prince Lotor did not appear receptive to our union. I attempted to bridge our differences at a later time, but he continued to prove obstinate. I had thought that he would be honored to have me as his empress, but he refused, and I became angry. In my fury, I... may have insulted him and his family. After that... our betrothal was called off."

Other than thudding the fingers of one hand against an armrest in a momentary beat, her sire gave no other indication of his mood or thoughts. "I see."

His... disappointment?... was almost palpable.

Tears abruptly began to bud at Corrall's eyes. She closed her eyes to try and stop the impending deluge, but it was an attempt made in vain.

"I tried, Father, I really tried," she cried, her voice cracking as she looked up at his seated form, "He said in the very beginning that he didn't want to marry me! He left me alone for days on end... I tried to reconcile with him when he finally came back, and it only made things worse! He mocked me... our family! I-I had to say something to defend our honor!"

Her tears soon moistened the very top of her veil. If his progeny's weeping moved him somehow, Taral gave no sign. He seemed to consider her for a few moments before a noise which sounded almost like a sigh issued forth from below his own facial covering.

"This is my own doing, child. Not everyone will understand the sanctity of our blood. I specifically selected you to wed outside of our family in order to allay some of the... disadvantages that sometimes arise as a result of the strict preservation of our bloodline, as well as to widen our sphere of influence, but I clearly chose an inferior empire to align with. No, I do not blame you," the monarch uttered, sounding weary, as he brought a hand up to his brow, "Now, cease your weeping, my daughter, and leave me. Events have changed, and I will need to convene with my council. You are dismissed."

Corrall barely heard her father's last sentences. This... leniency he had just displayed was almost unheard of in him. Was there more to the situation than she realized? However, he no longer desired her presence, and it would not have been appropriate to question him further on the subject. She sniffed and dashed the rest of the tears from her eyes with one hand before pressing herself back down to floor in a submissive gesture.

"As you wish, Father... Your generosity is rivaled only by your strength," she intoned towards the floor before rising as gracefully as she could manage to her feet.

Her mind still whirling, she turned slowly around and exited the throne room, her footsteps punctuated only by the flicker of the flames.


	17. The End of Us, Ch 17

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**Author's Note: **After rereading Ch. 17, I was still not satisfied with it, so I rewrote it. The original draft was stilted, laborious to wade through, and contained a lot of irrelevant information. So... presto, changeo, here's the new one! It's a little abstract, but I wanted to play around with Coba's character a little. I have gone through previous chapters so that they match up with this one. The revisions were relatively minor. For those of you who have reviewed, thank you! Your encouragement is appreciated.

**The End of Us, Ch. 17 (REVISED)**

After the dismissal of the Princess of Demos, things more or less returned to normal on Doom. The war between the empire and Planet Arus continued to rage on. Although the emperor had let the incident between his son and the Demosian monarch's daughter slide, he had not forgotten it, and the prince imperial was conscientious of the fact that he was now being watched. Consequently, he was much more subdued in his actions, at least for the time being.

Although Doom had been experiencing a steady losing streak against Arus since the resurrection of Voltron, the vast majority of the Denubian Galaxy remained firmly entrenched in Zarkon's grasp. In time, however, the mecha's victories, stemming first from the arrogance and ineptitude of Yurak, and then Lotor's refusal to put the Princess of Arus in harm's way, began to embolden some of the more downtrodden worlds. Rebellions started to slowly crop up. Haggar had foreseen this and had tried to warn the prince, but asking him to put aside the idea of sparing Allura had been an exercise in futility. That was an area on which he wasn't going to budge; like it or not, she was his and he had plans for her. She was an obstacle that had to be worked around rather than be blown completely through, even though that would have been the most logical plan. If she were dead, then Alfor's line would be extinguished and Voltron would be down a pilot and thus not be able to form. The witch supposed that the image of the young woman who was a symbol of freedom and hope for an entire galaxy being subservient to the very indomitable force she was supposed to oppose would still send a strong message, however.

Fortunately, the son of Zarkon remained a brilliant strategist and leader. In between harrying the people of Arus, he traveled with Mogor, the general he favored at the moment, to the planets that were attempting to regain their independence and put down the uprisings with the cold ruthlessness and efficiency he had been known for before he had assumed control over the mission to destroy Voltron. It did not escape anyone's notice that the absence of the princess had a direct effect on his ability to win, but most were mindful enough of their own lives to keep their observations to themselves. The mecha sometimes ventured out to defend one of these planets, but it was a difficult decision to make. If the robot wasn't on Arus and something happened, which had the greater priority - the world that had originally been targeted, or Arus? Oftentimes, the Lion pilots were forced to ground their vessels and stay put; if the Castle of Lions fell, it would be all over.

Doom was able to regain control of its territories, but tensions were mounting. The re-conquered planets, although beaten, remained restless, and now that he had reminded everyone of his abilities, Lotor's star was once more in ascendancy. With the exception of the situation with Arus, the empire was again united and stable, but at the same time, things were different - there was the scent of change in the wind, and it felt as if anything could happen.

* * *

><p>On one night in particular, Haggar had locked the doors to her laboratory and sat in seclusion with her familiar before the altar to the unseen spirits that guided her in the practice of her craft. The sterile facility had been plunged into darkness, and candles of varying sizes flickered on the altar surface. The smell of incense was strong in the air. The sorceress' half-lidded eyes adjusted quickly to the dimness as she slowly ran her fingers over the smoothness of the spiritual beads in her hands.<p>

The Doom Empire was still strong, but until Voltron was dealt with, the empire would exist in a perpetual stalemate with Arus. The danger lie in the fact that the mecha and everything it stood for inspired rebellion and ideas in others. Individual revolts, even ones that were held in concert, could be easily dealt with, but if rebels on several planets ever became organized and a large-scale effort was made, then that would be a great deal more difficult to handle. Doom had several processing and manufacturing plants but few natural resources; its infrastructure depended heavily on the resources of its conquered territories. If access to these resources were ever to be denied, it would be catastrophic for Doom. Something had to be done, and since the sorceress had made the pact with Lotor, she knew she would have to find another way to put the mechanized guardian out of commission besides killing the newest Lion pilot.

The flames from the candles burned brightly, like celestial bodies. Gradually, Haggar's awareness shrunk away from her immediate surroundings and turned inwards. Suddenly, the candlelight became stars, and she found herself back in the cold depths of the Denubian Galaxy. Countless more stars wheeled around her and a bright light flashed in the distance, which she intuitively knew was Voltron. Momentarily overwhelmed by her surroundings, she looked to her side and saw an amorphous mass of blue energy. The mass assumed a vaguely humanoid shape, and she knew it to be Coba'a.

An inviting smile slid across what would pass for the demon's face. Its mouth didn't move, but she could hear its words nonetheless.

..._Welcome, Aya'la_...

The sorceress was filled with a longing so poignant that she could not properly articulate it. Coba was always with her, but his true nature was revealed to her but rarely. The words dried up in the sorceress' mouth.

..._My name, say it_, _dark sister_..., it urged her.

"Coba'a...," she finally choked out.

The demon seemed to sigh contentedly, and the sound echoed in Aya'la's mind. She then felt the sensation of hands seductively traveling up her scarred body, but it was more than that, it was studying her inside and out. She shivered.

..._Aya'la, you have surpassed yourself... Why do you waste your time with those mortals? We could do so much more together, just the two of us, if you would only let me in just a little further_..., Coba'a purred.

"I too am mortal," she replied shakily, "And though I love you, you know why I cannot do that."

She did not voice aloud the fact that the capricious demon would potentially wreak havoc on the races of the Denubian if allowed to assume a form greater than that of a small creature. Coba'a, of course, sensed her thoughts.

..._I would behave... I would be so good. I've been good so far, haven't I? If you think you are powerful now, just think of what you would be able to do if I were allowed into your plane of existence as I truly am... You would be like a goddess_...

Aya'la swallowed. It was a very tempting offer, but it was also a double-edged sword. She would become more powerful, but everything and everyone she loved would potentially be put into harm's way.

An explosion of frustration seemed to travel through her.

..._You are shackled, Aya'la, well and truly... I suppose I will have to persuade you another time_..., Coba'a said, disappointed, ..._You are fortunate that I feel for you as I do... But you have come here for a reason, and I will be generous - shall I show you what you desire?_...

"Please," she whispered.

It took her hand, and the stars abruptly turned into pinpricks that raced past Aya'la's head, and suddenly they were there. The legendary mecha loomed over them like a mountain, the heads of the Lions glaring out with their gaping mouths like something from a nightmare. From inside the open maw of Black Lion, Voltron's humanoid face looked on forbiddingly. She was reminded of the time when she had traveled out into the empty bleakness of space under the guise of a goddess so that she could embrace the construct. The sorceress suppressed a shudder at her recollection of the searing pain and heat of the explosion that had nearly destroyed her along with it, and the subsequent heartbreak she had had to endure thereafter.

The sensation of her hand being squeezed soon brought her back from her reverie.

..._That time is past_..., the demon said reassuringly.

Aya'la reopened her yellow eyes and looked again at Voltron. She saw the somewhat faded colors of Alfor's crest on its chest, and then it was as if she could see inside of its metal skin. Below the thick tangle of components inside, the alien crystals that powered the Lions and allowed them to generate an array of advanced weaponry from a seemingly infinite wellspring of energy glowed tantalizingly. From the crystals flowed data and energy at a high frequency, and she saw it all as it circulated from one crystal to another; they pulsed in synch with one another when the Lions were united, and functioned as Voltron's beating heart. The witch felt something akin to a stab of lust when she beheld the phenomenon. Together, they were undoubtedly a vast repository of esoteric knowledge from an unknown or long-lost race of beings, for as advanced as the Arusians' technology had been, it was nowhere near as advanced as the information that had to be contained within those artifacts. Above all, she was a lover of knowledge, for it was the true source of power. Unfortunately, she sense that this particular secret of Voltron was not to be revealed to her, not right now, at least.

As if compelled, Aya'la's gaze was drawn reluctantly downward towards Blue Lion. The spot where the vessel was physically joined to Voltron in order to form its right leg seemed to shout out at her. Narrowing her eyes, she focused on the spot and saw that the connection point was not as strong in comparison to the others. Below that, she saw the information that flowed constantly back and forth from Blue Lion's crystal to the crystals of the others. Suddenly, she felt an inexplicable force rush towards the leonine craft and distort that energy, interrupting it. Without this unbroken line of communication, the Lion would have no way to stay locked in place with the others. Its eyes flashed despairingly, and then it began to slide down its joint, at first slowly, but then faster. When it had finally fully detached from Voltron's body, Blue Lion uncurled from its leg-like shape and into its normal form, but it lay still, like a beast that had been mortally wounded. The eyes on the robot's monolithic face flared, as if in sympathetic pain, and then began to disappear as the jaws of Black Lion closed. Without all of its components, Voltron could not be. The other Lions soon detached themselves from each other and, like Blue, lay quietly. After a moment, they all then melted into nothingness like a vision.

Then it was just Coba'a and the sorceress, floating together in the astral void alone as if Voltron had never been there. At first, she could only stare. It had been, and still was, a surreal experience, and it was a lot to take in. For the first time in a long time, hope began to well up in her heart. Perhaps this would be the time that the robot would be vanquished once and for all. This was not as heavy-handed of an approach as she had had to take. She was then struck by a thought that made her breath catch in her throat. Why hadn't she seen this in her meditations all those years ago? If she had known, if she had only known... then maybe she would still be beautiful, and Are'es would have come to love her... Further thoughts of what could have been flitted through her mind, making her feel as if she had been punched in the gut.

"He has never loved me," she finally reminded herself in a low voice.

..._Unlike I_..., the demon curled its presence around her beguilingly.

"I know this, my friend," the sorceress replied sadly.

It was useless to dwell on the matter. The knowledge that Voltron consisted of the Lions rather than being a singular entity had not been known at the time, and Coba'a would not have been able to forewarn her because, prior to their joint effort to destroy the great mecha, it had never before left its plane for her own and so could not have known. Even when it trotted at her feet in the form of a cat, its awareness and abilities were still limited. For better or for worse, she had been able to allow the man she loved to realize his dream because of her sacrifice and further a cause that she herself believed in. The explosion had also somehow bound her to Voltron; she was not privy to all of its secrets, but she was now able to glean more information about it when she did her meditations. Soon, she would know everything there was to know about it. She refused to think that her great gesture had been for nothing.

..._Now you understand_..., Coba'a told her regretfully, and then its tone became cajoling, ..._But if you were to let me in, we could discover all of its secrets now, and then think of what you would be able to do with them_...

"I love you, but I cannot," she repeated herself to him.

Once more, the demon seemed to smile.

..._We shall see how long you remain resolute, dark sister_..., it responded, ..._Until next time_...

And then it was gone.

Aya'la inhaled a slow breath, blinked, and the inky, black vastness of the cosmos she was inhabiting vanished. In its place was a lavishly appointed room in Castle Doom. It was the emperor's bedchamber; she had once had access to it when times between her and Are'es were better. An overwhelming sense of nostalgia immediately seized her. The same large bed with crimson-colored silk sheets dominated one corner, and nearby it was the balcony she had used to go out on pleasant days; currently, its open doors revealed the stormy weather and jagged landscape of Doom, beautiful in its terribleness. This surely had to be some sort of cruel joke.

She looked around and saw that she was alone. She began to move and then immediately realized that something was off. Her gait was longer, and she stood taller with her back unbent. She brought her clawed hands to her face and saw that they were whole. Her skin was no longer mutilated and marked with scars, but smooth and a light shade of blue, like it used to be. She was no longer in the dull-colored robe she always wore, but was instead in a beautiful gown that hugged her figure and put her now-pliant breasts on display. The sensation of her own healthy flesh bouncing on her was a novelty she had not experienced in a long time, and she felt mocked.

Still shocked, she dashed on slippered feet to a nearby mirror on the onyx-colored wall and nearly passed out. Her face... it was beautiful again, only slightly different. She was older; specifically, she was her current age, but it was as if the explosion had never happened. Her skin was clear and her hair was dark and luxuriously thick; she was wearing it down, and from underneath it surfaced a pair of delicately tapered ears adorned with drop earrings. She ran her hands up and down them wonderingly. This was not a transformation, but the real deal. This was a hallucination, it had to be. Nothing else made sense.

The sound of a door opening made her drop her hands and turn around. It was Zarkon, resplendent in his court dress. He was not handsome, he never had been, she knew him to cruel and at times duplicitous, but the sight of him at that moment took her breath away. The scowl that he usually wore on his face was gone, and its absence allowed her to see the sensual shape of his mouth and the strong line of his jaw.

"I have been looking for you," he said smoothly as he smiled at her.

The witch could not find her voice. She stood transfixed, and she could feel her heart pounding in her temples. With a knowing smirk on his face, he strode over to a lacquered desk that was nearby, fingering the bejeweled clasp that fastened his red-and-black mantle as he did so. He removed the garment and carelessly laid it out on the desk surface as if it were a normal piece of clothing. Clad now only in his dark uniform, he moved towards her with a grace that suggested he had not in fact spent the last several years of his life railing at Voltron from his throne. Was this some sort of alternate reality? Her golden eyes quickly darted down to her wrists and she did not see a matrimonial bracelet. So, not that alternate, then.

Suddenly, he stood before her. He gathered her in his large hands as he had once done a lifetime ago and leaned into her, making all other thoughts flee her mind.

She sighed longingly, "Are'es..."

Like the rest of her, her voice had changed, now low and melodious, rather than a grating rasp.

He leaned into her as if he would whisper an endearment to her.

"My _hag'ga'ar_," he murmured, his breath warm on her neck.

The words made Aya'la stiffen against him. He noticed her reaction, but he did not relinquish his hold on her.

"Do not think for a moment that you will ever be anything other than my creature," he breathed into her ear as he lovingly stroked her hair with a clawed hand, "Now tell me, my _hag'ga'ar_, what are you and my son up to?"

Her body tensed up even further.

Stung, she finally answered him, "Nothing, Sire. As you say, I am yours, and he is your faithful son."

"You little liar... I see you two conspiring in the corners and into the night," the emperor chuckled softly, clearly amused, "I could have your tongue for that falsehood. What has he promised you? You should know that he is also a liar; whatever he has said to you, he will not keep it."

"We do nothing, Sire," she repeated woodenly to her former lover, "If we talk, it is only me advising him as I advise you. If treason were being whispered, I would tell you."

"Oh, I know you would," he agreed, "This is why I am asking you. I ask again, what is he planning and what has he asked you to do?"

Her breathing hitched when she felt his lips brush her neck.

"N-Nothing is being planned, Sire," she choked, "We do nothing!"

He savagely tightened the grip he had in her hair, making her gasp hoarsely in pain as he yanked her head to the side so that she had to strain and look at him from the corner of her eyes.

"Do. Not. Lie. To. Me," he ground out dangerously.

Her eyes watered as she shook her head slightly. "I do not lie."

"TELL ME, WITCH!" he bellowed at her, and she could feel his spittle land on her cheek with each word.

She blinked, and all of a sudden, she was back in her darkened laboratory and she was Haggar again. The candles had burned down low; some had burned out completely, but a few still featured a small, sputtering flame. The spiritual beads she had been fingering had fallen into her lap when she had lapsed into her trance. With a conscious effort, she tried to get her pulse, which was racing, to slow down.

Coba lay at her side and began to stretch his legs when he noticed that she had returned.

"Thank you, my friend," she whispered to him as she reached out to scratch him behind his ears.

The blue-furred feline meowed innocuously at her ministrations and began to purr. Haggar then reached for her staff and pulled herself up to her feet. She made a careless gesture with one hand and lights began to glow overhead. After her eyes readjusted to the light, she paced towards her work area. Ideas were already coming to her for how to exploit the vulnerability in Voltron's body that had been revealed to her. Her dream of Zarkon, however, was not so clear-cut. She knew now that it had been a manifestation of a foolish and long-dormant desire, but she did not understand why he had demanded to know about the arrangement between her and Lotor. There was no way he could have known about it in reality, she had made sure of that. The dream could have also been a portent, though. He might be having suspicions of being overthrown and making preparations.

As much as Haggar had come to hate the emperor now, she still loved him. There was no denying it. It broke her heart to be betraying him like this, but it hurt her even more to continue existing in this tortuous purgatory he had thrust her into the minute he had discovered that she had had feelings for him. She had lived in it for years, and she could not do it anymore. He had never said that he loved her, but he had promised to make her an empress, and he had lied. She had been faithful to him and he had rewarded that faith with cruelty. If he would not make her his empress, than she would be the empress mother and share the throne with his heir. Although Lotor was not her biological son, she had been a mother to him when his own mother had been put to death all those years ago, and she knew that he would keep his word. She would not kill Zarkon, nor allow him to be killed, but she would support his son's coup so that she could finally obtain the title and power that were rightfully hers.

..._Why couldn't you keep your promise to me, Are'es?_..., the witch thought to herself sorrowfully, ..._Why couldn't you have just loved me?_...

When she neared her work desk, she sat down and put her clawed hands to her face and wept.

* * *

><p>The next night, Haggar was in her laboratory finalizing her schematics for a new mecha-style robeast when she heard someone at her door. She was in the middle of crunching a particular set of numbers, so she distractedly gestured towards the entryway with one hand. She quickly finished what she was doing and then turned around so that she could bow to the prince imperial as he strode towards her. In the distance, she heard the sound of the doors hissing shut behind him.<p>

"My Prince," the sorceress greeted him as she dipped her head respectfully towards him, "Thank you for coming to see me at this time. I have much I need to discuss with you."

"Of course, Haggar," Lotor replied tiredly as he nodded back at her, "What is it that's so important?"

"I have discovered a new vulnerability in Voltron, Sire," she explained as she motioned for him to follow her towards a couple of chairs that were close by, "I am developing a new robeast that will exploit this vulnerability. It will take many days for it to be completed, but I do not think you will be disappointed with the results."

The prince joined her with a piqued expression on his chiseled face.

"Tell me," he commanded, leaning forward in his seat with interest.

"Sire, my meditations revealed to me a spot on Voltron's body that can be easily breached. The Lions need to be in constant communication with one another in order to stay unified in one body. If the energy flow to one of the Lions is severed, then it will no longer be able to stay connected with the others and it will have to detach," she answered him as Coba leapt up into her lap, "Since Voltron requires all five of the Lions, as you know, if one falls, then they all do. The Lions will be forced to fight separately. I have also gone over the data gathered by you on your missions there, and the analysis corroborates what I saw," her tone then became cautious, "I will tell you the location of this vulnerability, but you will not like it."

Lotor's jaw ticked as he momentarily clenched his teeth together.

"Blue Lion?" he said flatly.

"Yes, Sire," she sighed as she absently ran her fingers through her familiar's thick coat.

The dark prince immediately leaned back, his mouth a tight line. "Where is this vulnerability?"

"The spot where Blue Lion intersects with Black Lion in order to form the right leg of Voltron."

He did not immediately respond after that. Prompted by his silence, Haggar spoke once more.

"Sire, we need to take advantage of this," she pressed him, "I understand that you do not want her to be hurt, but it is imperative that we put a stop to the Arusian rebellion; it has carried on for far too long. You know the danger that lies in Voltron's repeated victories, not to mention what your father will do if he realizes that you are still going out of your way for her."

"Yes, I know that it would be ill-advised to pass this opportunity up. All the same, the princess is not to be harmed," he uttered stubbornly, "Can the area not be targeted without risking her life?"

"Sire, she risks her life the minute she straps herself in," she said sourly, but then relented, "The joint is located a fair distance away from the cockpit, so as long as it isn't explicitly targeted, then the risk against her is minimized. When the robeast is complete, I can program some parameters into its AI so that the only area of Blue Lion that it targets is the joint. I cannot guarantee that she won't be banged up a little, but that should be the worst that she will experience. When the Lions are separated, we can overwhelm them and then she can be extracted from her ship."

Lotor clenched his jaw again, clearly frustrated. "Do it then, but make sure you include those parameters. I don't like the idea at all, but as you said, this is an opportunity that hasn't come along for a while, and it would be foolish to squander it."

Acting on an afterthought, he then added, "Let us keep this development to ourselves for now until the time is right to reveal it."

Haggar's saffron eyes widened in alarm when she remembered her last dream.

"Sire, I must also warn you, the emperor does not know of your plans or the arrangement between us, he cannot know, but I believe he is having suspicions," she warned him suddenly, "He might be making preparations. I would suggest reexamining the confidentiality and integrity of all of your correspondence and message traffic, just in case."

The prince snorted derisively, "My father thinks everyone is out to get him," he then smiled slyly, "In this case, he would be right for once. But don't worry, Haggar, I hear your warning. I haven't been stupid concerning my plans, and I take the security of my communications very seriously. If his suspicions grow, then I will think of something to distract him. I want him caught completely off guard when the time comes."

"Very well then, Sire," she nodded at him and then extricated Coba from her lap, "I will begin construction of the robeast shortly. I will keep you abreast of any news."

He rose to his feet. "I would appreciate that, Haggar."

Now that their business was concluded, he made a gesture of farewell to her and began to make his way towards the exit. After returning it, the sorceress sighed and turned her attention back to the robeast schematics on her worktable. This would be her greatest creation; if it failed, then it would certainly not be for lack of effort.


	18. The End of Us, Ch 18

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**Author's Note: **Thank you Drowningblonde and KathDMD for reviewing! I am glad you enjoyed the previous chapter. 9/26 - I tweaked a little of the text of this chapter to make it read a little smoother. Errors I missed in earlier chapters have also been corrected.

**The End of Us, Ch. 18**

Haggar quickly ushered the staggering form of the prince imperial into her laboratory and swept off a nearby worktable with a clawed hand as the doors slid shut behind her so that he would have something to lie on. The wide sleeve of her garment flared outwards when she gestured for him to sit down, and there was an air of worry as well as exasperation in her motion. Grimacing, Lotor unfastened the collar of his tattered uniform shirt and awkwardly drew it off with one hand, allowing it to fall onto the dark-colored floor before tentatively shifting his bulk onto the cold surface of the worktable. He sat facing her, and when he looked down at the raw and angry gash in his left shoulder, his inscrutable expression paled somewhat.

"Honestly, Sire, challenging your father? What were you thinking?" the sorceress muttered as she stepped over the objects that now littered the floor and opened a drawer underneath the worktable, bringing up various medical paraphernalia.

A tense smile crossed his lips. "I had my reasons, Haggar."

The witch's harsh stare narrowed at his less than satisfactory account of his actions to her.

"My Prince, I warned you that your father does not know of our arrangement and your plans, and yet you have made this-," she caught herself before the word 'stupid' rolled out of her mouth, "-rash decision. Your father all but knows of your intentions now. You requested that I be there, and I made sure that I was. You still have your life, and you have barely told me anything. With all due respect, Sire, I believe I am owed a more thorough explanation than that."

Lotor observed her putting back the items she did not require now that she had found what she needed: a vial of thick, pale fluid, a fat syringe, and an impossibly large hypodermic needle. He noted her expression and overall manner with a knowing look.

"Yes, you were there, and you have my gratitude," he acknowledged, "Rest assured, I have not forgotten your warning. I know that challenging him was dangerous, especially after breaking up his would-be alliance with Demos, but I felt that the benefits outweighed the potential risk."

The expression on Haggar's scarred face did not lessen as she produced gauze and an antiseptic solution from somewhere.

"Please tell me then, Sire," she said, carefully controlling the tone of her voice.

She doused the gauze with the solution and brought it towards the azure flesh of the prince's arm, near his shoulder. Lotor balled his hands into fists as he felt the sting. She was not applying it directly to his injury, thank the Gods, but it was near enough that he could feel some of its effects.

"The time is not yet ripe for my plans to unfold. My father is old, but that does not mean he is incapable," he explained to her through gritted teeth, "It is folly to underestimate your opponent, a lesson Yurak failed to learn a number of times. I had to know my father's strength, and I can tell you that although he is strong, he is not as powerful as he thinks. He has sat on his throne overly long and has not conquered any new territories in his own name for years."

His words at first rendered the sorceress incredulous. "You _allowed_ him to be the victor, Sire? He would have killed you."

Zarkon's son looked past her for a moment, his golden eyes thoughtful. "Perhaps. By all rights, he should have done so. Fortunately, your talents as an actress almost surpass your other abilities. As I said, I felt that the benefits outweighed the potential risk. Let him think me impulsive and humbled and you as safely back in his control; I now know what he is personally capable of. The arrogance he will feel in his victory shall be his downfall. He may watch me longer now, but until he sires another heir he will not do anything too hasty; he is ever conscientious of the fragility and youth of his dynasty. There is time to strategize further."

Haggar worried uneasily at her lip with her sharp teeth as she opened the package that the needle was in and attached it to the syringe. The whole thing had been a feint? What he had said was perhaps true, for it was how she had first defeated Voltron, but he was running the same risk as his father. She inserted the syringe inside the vial and pulled its viscous contents up into it through the needle.

"I could have told you what you wanted to know, Sire. There was no need to endanger yourself so," she chided him as she tapped the syringe repeatedly and expelled a little of the fluid in order to get rid of the air inside, "Your father is still a force to be reckoned with. He may grow complacent, but I would not return him the favor of underestimating him. It took great strength, cunning, and ruthlessness to make this empire."

"Yes, and all of it may have amounted to little if it had not been for you and your contributions," he responded smoothly even as his eyes widened a little at the drops as they fell to the floor, "Look at how he has rewarded you for it. You deserve more than that, Haggar. You could have perhaps told me some of what I needed to know, but he was starting to suspect that your loyalty was shifting. He confessed to it himself after Corrall left, and you warned me of it again after your trance. You are correct, though, my father remains formidable, but he is no longer the man he was so long ago, and he has underestimated both you and me all our lives. The Empire needs fresh blood, and we shall get our due."

The witch bowed her hooded head towards his subtle flattery. "Very well then, Sire."

She then interjected, "We shall need to take into account the nobility who attended the games today. They witnessed your father defeat you in the duel, and many will feel that it is sufficient enough proof that he is strong enough to remain the emperor. They may side with him."

A calculating smile settled on Lotor's countenance. "I will take care of it."

She nodded and came closer to him with the loaded syringe. "As you say, Sire."

She brought the needle to his bare skin.

"My Prince, are you sure that you still want to do this? Your injury will take several weeks to heal without intervention from me. With intervention, it will be healed by the end of this session, but the process will be incredibly painful, moreso than the blow that delivered the wound. I can shape my own flesh without a catalyst, but I need one when I do it to others. This will be only a small, localized dose... You will only experience part of what Yurak felt before his conversion, but it will still undoubtedly be the worst physical pain you have ever experienced."

The prince momentarily suppressed a shudder at the memory of the former general's screams echoing within the sorceress' facility as his flesh was manipulated like clay into a nightmarish new shape in front of his very eyes.

After a brief pause, his expression hardened. "There is much that remains to be done, and I can't afford to be out of commission that long. Do it."

"As you wish, Sire," Haggar sighed, gently taking hold of his left bicep with one withered hand, "Now, brace yourself."

She then stabbed the needle into his arm and pushed the plunger of the syringe. Lotor bellowed loudly as its contents emptied into his body. A burning pain so intense he could scarcely describe it immediately lit up his arm and shoulder. If it were not for his iron grip on the edge of the worktable with his other hand, he would surely have toppled from it. When all of the solution had drained into him, his flesh began to take on an unsettling appearance that alarmed him. He whipped his head to the side so that he could no longer see it.

The witch ripped out the needle and cast it aside as she stepped back from his trembling, half-stripped body. She closed her saffron eyes and inhaled, and when she reopened them, they glowed. Spreading her hands out into claws, she began the macabre, yet undeniably elegant, movements that would unite his severed tendons and damaged muscle tissue and smooth the wound away as if it had never been there.

Further shouts of pain broke the silence of her laboratory.

* * *

><p>Much later that night, the Emperor of Doom rose from his bed slowly, not out of any concern for the comfort of the red-skinned female slumbering opposite him, but because his body still ached more than he cared to admit to from the day's events, and he did not want to arouse her attention and have her reassume the attentive, yet fearful, behavior that all slaves assumed in their waking states. He was no longer as virile as he had been in the past, but he still drew some obscure comfort from the feel of a woman's body next to his own.<p>

His cat-like pupils dilating widely in the darkness, he stalked silently towards a dark robe that had been flung over the back of a nearby chair and put it on, the pads of his sharp fingertips brushing over the rough texture of the dark blue flesh of his aging body. As he tied the belt of the garment around his waist, the slave stirred slightly from within the confines of the bed. Zarkon waited for a few moments to see if she would wake, but his luck held; her head had been flung back, her flaming tresses parting to reveal round ears, but her eyes remained closed and her breathing was languid and stable. He quickly found a loose pair of pants and donned them, exited his bedchamber afterwards.

He had felt restless when he had retired for the evening hours earlier, but he had hoped that sleep would eventually overtake him. It had been a wish made in vain, unfortunately. His mind felt crowded by his thoughts, and so he went towards the one location where he could think in privacy - his personal study. It was a small but elegantly appointed room, and he allowed no one entry inside save himself. As he wearily drew near his desk, he passed by a small painting on the wall with a purposeful effort to not look at it. The artwork had clearly seen better days: it hung at an angle, the gilt frame was battered, and the canvas had been rent in half long ago, as if the subject of the painting had driven the render into a mindless rage. Amongst the tatters, a soulful blue eye gazed placidly outwards.

The monarch sat down and pulled his seat closer towards the desk. He impatiently drummed his fingers on the surface for a moment before opening a drawer and retrieving a small datapad. He tapped out a few notes on it before placing it back down. He was still reeling from his son's earlier defiance. He had known that Lotor, while not outright eager, was looking forward to the day he assumed his birthright as emperor. He had never openly challenged him before, however.

Zarkon leaned back into his seat and sighed for a moment. The prince had been perfect upon his initial return to Doom. He had won all of his battles and invaluable territories for the empire, and when he had greeted him hours before the commencement of the ceremony to strip Yurak of his honors, he had been artful and shrewd, cold even. He had known what his duties were and performed them with a detached aptitude. Then he had gone to Arus. All it had taken was the batting of a pair of blue eyes for him to come completely undone. It was not evident at first, but after a few weeks it had become painfully obvious why so many of Doom's resources had been wasted.

..._Damn_ _Alfor's forethought and Yurak's incompetence!_..., he swore viciously to himself as he clenched and then unclenched one large fist in frustration at the thought of the Princess of Arus.

He had tried being patient with his son, and had even sent Haggar to talk some sense into him, but it hadn't appeared to work and perhaps may have even been a mistake. The two had become close, and Zarkon knew she was a powerful ally and asset. He had carefully schemed against and manipulated her over a lifetime in order to keep her indebted and under his thumb, and the idea that Lotor might do the same had never entered his mind until now. If the witch ever turned against him and sided with his son... The emperor could only pray that her ill-concealed affections for him were enough to keep her loyal to him. If not, then he would need to manipulate her once more, but he did not know how much longer he could string her along. It had been years and years already, and all wells, no matter how ponderous, would eventually run dry if continuously drawn upon and never refilled.

Zarkon shifted in his seat once more. If she had wandered, and he could not win her back, then he would need to dispose of her, which would not be easy. If she and Lotor were working in concert together, then the odds would be greatly stacked against him if a coup was ever attempted. Her death would be a tragedy, however. She was a sorceress of unmatched caliber, and it was her powers and robeasts that allowed the Doom Empire to rise as quickly as it had; without her, the process would have still happened, but it would have taken much longer. The prince would have to offer her something of great significance in order to sway her allegiance to him; he would have to offer her something even greater still in order to keep her if that were to happen.

The emperor thought quickly for a moment; he had baited her on long enough, he supposed that he could finally grant her what she so desperately wanted from him under the condition that she physically alter her body with her magic in order to appear as she once did before the great explosion. She had been beautiful once, but no matter how attractive she made herself look now, no matter how real that beauty was, he would never be able to forget the decrepit husk she had been beforehand, and the knowledge that he would be sleeping with a walking cadaver when their marriage was consummated made him shudder involuntarily. No, he would need to contrive a way to keep her but in the same way he kept her now: subservient and loyal.

Fortunately, it looked as if a rift was developing between his son and her. Even as she had pleaded for his life, there was no longer a sense of cooperation between the two of them. Haggar had been cool and pragmatic; she could have been asking him to spare a particularly promising robeast rather than his only heir. They had even argued when Lotor had vowed to become one of her monstrosities in order to atone for his little rebellion. When she refused for the reason of having built a better robeast, the enmity between the two had been almost tangible. This display of discord was not enough to relax his suspicions entirely, but it pleased him and, coupled with his victory, gave him a greater confidence in his strength and ability to control the witch.

She had been right, though; killing Lotor would have potentially been a mistake, even if he had deserved it twice over. With no other heir to pick up the reins should something happen to him, he was in a precarious position in a universe of constant struggle. The prince's birth had been a miracle in of itself; he had never been a particularly fertile man, and while it was certainly possible for Drules to interbreed with other humanoid species and produce viable offspring, the odds of successfully doing so were not as high when compared to same-species breeding. _She_ had not been Drule, but _she_ had been one of his only options, and _she_ had had a high enough birth for him to satisfy the Supremacy's requirements for the establishment of his kingdom. _She_... Zarkon quickly averted any further thoughts of _her_ that would potentially rekindle any warmth from him for _her_. Wedding and bedding _her_ had been a necessity, _she_ had served her purpose, and then _she_ had betrayed him in the worst way; that was all that had come from that situation. He had armored his heart and moved on to greater things.

The despot momentarily broke away from his introspection to uncurl his hands from the fists they had been in and turn them over so he could look at them. Golden bands encircled a few fingers and shined in the dim light, and his palms, while lined and spotted, were still strong and whole. He was no longer a young man, but he was not yet so old that he could no longer lead. He could remarry and have his pick of anyone, royalty or commoner, but there was no guarantee that he would make another child. Even if he were too, it would take time for them to mature and become capable of leading an empire like Doom's. He hated to think of it, but if misfortune were to fall upon him during that time, then everything he had worked for would be thrown asunder. He supposed that he could have Haggar cultivate a clone for him, but there was also no guarantee that the clone would be a suitable successor. The clone would be genetically identical to him in every way, but would also take time to grow and would have free will. The potential to turn rogue would still be there.

He had labored hard to hammer Lotor into a being who was powerful enough to be his heir, and he had not disappointed initially, despite his half-human heritage. Things had been going smoothly until he had laid eyes on Alfor's girl; since then, it was as if his internal compass had gone all awry. He had changed, transitioning from an obedient, ideal son into a willful and moody individual. It was as if his old nemesis had clawed his way out of his grave for the sole purpose of mocking him one last time. Zarkon could not believe that he had once entertained the idea of marrying the former king's daughter to his son. Before he had razed Arus, there had been an evanescent window of civility between the two planets, and the technology of Voltron had been a powerful motivator. This was how he had operated in the past - first offer the planet a chance to be peaceably absorbed into the Empire, and then take further measures if the offer was rebuffed. Alfor had been obstinate and defiant, however, and his daughter had survived only to be infected by the same attitude.

He turned his thoughts away from the dead ruler and his infernal offspring and towards his son again. For all his current faults, Lotor had been a good prince and capable leader, and he could be made to be so once again; his victories over the rebelling planets had reminded him of that fact. If his dynasty were better established or he had other children, then his progeny's death would be more acceptable, but in the event that he was the only child he would ever successfully sire, then he was a precious commodity and his death would be a waste. While the emperor despised defiance and disobedience and was ever conscientious of his reputation, he hated the danger of ruling a young empire with no heir even more. The nobility of Doom were vicious in their appetites, and the only way they could be cowed was by through a show of force. If allowed to, they would tear his realm apart with war, and all of his efforts in his youth to conquer planets and forge alliances would have been for naught. He would never admit to it, let alone think it, but for a moment he allowed himself to acknowledge that an infinitely small part of him also hesitated to extinguish this last link he had with _her_; despite his best efforts, _she_ had wormed _her_ way into his affections and he had cared for _her_ in his own way, although he had never said anything of this to _her_. Admitting aloud to this weakness would have been a self-defeating action, not that that had done him any good in the end.

The Drule monarch shook his head and leaned forward tiredly, bringing his clawed hands to his face and running them up towards the top of his head, feeling its bony ridge as he did so. Good prince or no, only son or no, past affections or no, he could not tolerate any further defiance from Lotor. If push came to shove, he would need to execute him and find a new empress to sire an heir on. The prince had sworn his fealty anew earlier after being soundly thrashed, but he would need to keep a close eye on him. He would need to keep an eye on Haggar, as well. He could not outright forbid the witch from advising him, as it would be akin to telling her not to do her job and it would garner suspicion, but he would need to look at all of his options.

The Princess of Arus was undoubtedly the source of Lotor's corruption. That fact that she even looked like _her_ did not escape him. Killing her would most likely solve that, but it could be that his son would save him the trouble. Since he was not going to be turned into a robeast, he had then sworn to target Blue Lion itself when he next went to Arus. Zarkon was skeptical, as his progeny had done nothing but make a fool of himself over the chit, but he would hold him to his word. If he returned with Blue Lion destroyed and free of her influence over him, then his son would be intact again, as he was before. If he failed him once more, however, then the emperor knew that he was beyond redemption and he would finish what should have happened in the arena before Haggar intervened.

Time would tell.

Sighing, he finished up his notes and then returned the datapad to its drawer. He then exited and locked the study before once again seeking the elusive embrace of sleep.


	19. The End of Us, Ch 19

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**Author's Note:**Thank you for reviewing my last chapter, Petronille, KathDMD, and Drowningblonde! Glad you guys liked it.

**Author's Note 2:** Tweaked this chapter as of today (4/15/14).

**The End of Us, Ch. 19**

A few days later and under the pretense of conducting official business in a faraway star system of the Coral Quadrant, Lotor found himself standing in front of a sharply dressed officer clothed in a dark-colored uniform.

Like most others of his species, the lantern-jawed Drule was large in stature and imposing, with a light scar running up the left side of his azure face and crossing over his eye. His black hair was pulled back into a short queue, while a rather loud beret that contrasted with his nondescript garb sat on his head, tilted at a rakish angle. On it was pinned a jagged insignia that belonged neither to the Doom Empire nor to the Supremacy. His expression was stoic, but his felinoid gaze held considerable more humor.

"Prince Lotor, it has been many months since you have graced my humble fleet with your presence," the officer smiled at the prince as he bowed, "It is good to see you once more."

A similar smile crossed the prince imperial's countenance when he acknowledged the gesture with a nod. "The feeling is mutual, General Au'ncha."

Straightening out, the officer then gestured towards a cluster of chairs close to an expansive desk on the other side of his ready room.

"Please have a seat, My Prince. What brings you here?"

Within a few moments, the two of them were seated next to each other. As the men briefly engaged in small talk, an elegant-looking humanoid female slave with alabaster flesh and two pairs of arms strode over to them and set out the two glasses that she had in one pair of hands on the surface of a small table set in the midst of the chairs. She then poured wine into them from the decorative decanter that she was holding in her other pair of hands until they were both brimming with the dark red liquid. Once her task was complete, she bowed gracefully and then vacated herself from the room.

The general retrieved his glass and drank deeply. Lotor did the same.

"It is good to hear that you have been doing so well, My Prince. I hear that you were able to strike the fear back into the rebelling territories of the Azure Quadrant. Well, with the exception of one."

The prince's smile became a grimace. "The situation there is different from the others and as such requires different handling, Au'ncha."

The other Drule took in his expression and promptly exploded with hearty laughter. "I merely jest, My Prince. I am aware of what has been happening on Arus and know enough about your competency in the field to know what has really been going on. I too have felt the prick of love's dagger at my breast and remember well the exquisite agony of its sting."

Unmoved by the romantic poetry of his former upperclassman's words, Lotor allowed the smile to return to his sculpted features, but his gaze remained slightly narrowed, looking very much like a bird with ruffled feathers. "Quite."

Au'ncha considered him for a moment before taking another drink. The two had briefly attended the Drule Academy together at the same time, but while Lotor had gone on to graduate from the institution, he himself had eventually dropped out after becoming tired of the ceaseless bullshit and politics in order to pursue his own fortune, and he had done fairly well for himself, considering that he was now the head of the most elite and feared mercenary army in the Denubian. Crime lords and kings alike clamored for the exorbitant services of his Red Berets and waited months, if not longer, for them, and why wouldn't they? His soldiers were beyond skilled and did not fear death, not with the doctrine he ruthlessly instilled in them and how generously he compensated their families for their lives. Overall, he found his current lifestyle far more satisfactory than any that he would have had had he graduated the Academy and found himself the subordinate to some higher-up of the Supremacy that didn't know their ass from their elbow.

The officer set aside his beverage and leaned back into his seat. "Well, My Prince, I know that you did not travel all this way to exchange mere pleasantries with me. Tell me why you have really come here."

Lotor took a sip of wine and reclined in his seat, as well; his half-full glass, however, remained in his hands. "I want your army."

The smile on Au'ncha's scarred face widened. "There are many important people who want my army, My Prince."

"I am not most people," the prince answered coolly.

The general's interest became piqued by his response. "Very well, My Prince, I can see if I can squeeze you in somewhere. There is quite a large backlog of requests for contracts, but we can work something out."

"I am not renting your army, but buying it outright," Lotor clarified.

For a moment, Au'ncha did not say anything. "Excuse me, My Prince?"

The prince drained his glass and then set it down on the small table next to him. "Don't worry, you're coming along, too."

"This is... highly unorthodox, My Prince. I have never violated any of my contracts."

"Then it is fortunate that you have just cleared your last contract and have yet to start another one. If you drop your other requests for contracts, you will not have started them and so will not be able to violate them and your sterling reputation remains intact," Lotor said smoothly.

"Very astute observation, My Prince," Au'ncha admitted grudgingly. "Still... very few can afford to, as you so quaintly put it, 'rent' my Red Berets. What makes you think you can afford to buy them if I even entertained your request?"

"I have learned that everyone has a price. Name yours."

The black-haired officer smirked and rattled off the first outrageously astronomical price that entered his mind. It was an amount that was beyond substantial, enough to set him and every single one of his soldiers up for life. He doubted very much that the younger prince had this much at his disposal.

Lotor promptly nodded with no trace of guile in his eyes. "Done, and in return, the Red Berets will give me their undying loyalty, and that includes you, until such time as I see fit. You will continue to have command of them, of course, but you will answer to me."

The other Drule's mouth briefly hung open in response to the Prince Imperial of Doom's quick reply.

"You have such resources?" he gaped.

"Yes. Now what is your response?"

The stunned officer had not anticipated such an unexpected and straightforward answer from the prince and so did not know what to say initially.

Shaking his head as if dazed, Au'ncha leaned forward and reached for his glass before realizing it was empty. "I think... it's time for a refill. Zisa!"

Lotor waited while the commanding officer of the Red Berets resummoned his multi-armed slave from wherever her presence had been hidden and then had her fill both of their glasses once more. When she vanished again, Au'ncha took a healthy gulp and set his glass down before responding.

"I am not sure of this, My Prince... it has never been done before... not with with my army, at least."

"That is irrelevant," the dark prince countered, "In addition to the price you have named, I can also give you the one thing that you have always wanted."

"With all due respect, My Prince, all I have ever wanted was money and freedom, and while what you offer is... quite large, I can still get both of those things right here where I am currently at," the general told him with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Perhaps, but that is not all that you want, and you know this, Koren," Lotor countered as he raised his recently filled glass to his lips once more, "I can give you legitimacy."

Au'ncha frowned at the prince imperial's usage of his birth name and the casual reference to his impoverished upbringing. It was a sensitive subject for him as it was one that he did not care to dwell on, and it had made it very difficult for him to get into the Academy to begin with, not that that had mattered in the end to him. He was more or less content with his current arrangement in life, but there were still some doors that no amount of martial or logistic skill alone could open for him. It was unfortunate.

"Lands, titles, more wealth, and the hand of any eligible lady from the aristocracy of Doom or Tyrus," the Drule prince continued relentlessly.

The officer's eyes widened momentarily in surprise. He promptly bolted down the remains of his beverage, carefully weighing the son of Zarkon's words as he did so. After a couple of tense minutes, his mind was made up. He set his glass back down and then reached for the dagger that was normally kept sheathed in his sword belt. He unflinchingly slid the blade across his azure palm and then extended it towards Lotor. Satisfied that he had had his way, Lotor smiled and took the proffered blade so that he too could participate in the bloodletting ritual.

After the two clasped hands, Au'ncha returned his expression as the weapon was handed back to him. "It looks like we have a deal, My Prince. The Red Berets are at your service."

Lotor's smile grew. "Excellent. This shall prove to be a mutually beneficial arrangement."

He then added, "One more thing... no one is to know of this deal until I decide otherwise. As far as anyone else knows, you remain your own man with your old requests for contracts still pending."

The officer's eyes lit up, his interest piqued once again. "Am I to assume that some fun is to be had?"

A conspiratorial smirk appeared on Lotor's face and was then gone. "But of course."

* * *

><p>While his son was away on a routine patrol and Haggar was putting the finishing touches on her latest robeast, Zarkon found himself up late again in his personal study one night, but for once it was not his restless mind that kept him from sleep. He had had paperwork to take care of earlier, but more importantly, one of his myriad plans had at last come to fruition, and it was now time to witness its results.<p>

A self-satisfied smile crossed the emperor's fearsome countenance as he tucked away the remainders of his work from his desk. He then keyed in a short entry on a nearby console, causing a large holo screen to materialize before him. The call he initiated over the encrypted comm channel was soon answered by the pale, dour face of Xeval Fae'ak, the Grand Seneschal of the Zin court. Next to him was the comparatively much fairer copper-haired handmaiden that had accompanied Princess Corrall when she had been on Doom all those weeks ago.

The noble had slicked-back blonde hair and a nose like the beak of one of the raptors that constantly circled over the Pit of Skulls. He blinked his unsettling crimson eyes and bowed low. The female servant joined him. When he rose back up, the musical language of Demos flowed from his lips

After a beat, the maiden dipped her head in a self-deprecating fashion and kept her gaze directed down at the floor. "A thousand greetings to you, Emperor Zarkon. Her Radiance Princess Corrall has been anticipating the privilege of receiving you."

A corner of the Emperor of Doom's mouth quirked wryly in response to her flawless, albeit nasal-sounding, Drule. That portion of his son and Haggar's story had been true, at least. He, as well as his entire court, had made the assumption that because the daughter of Taral Zin was unable to speak their language, she had also not had any other means of understanding it. It was an oversight he was not proud of. He was usually attentive to the smaller details of a situation. As it was, Haggar herself was one of the few people on Doom who could fluently speak and understand the tongue of Demos.

He quickly schooled his features into as civil an expression as he could manage. "Greetings, Grand Seneschal. I thank you and await Princess Corrall's presence with gladness and serenity."

He could never quite get used to the florid speech used by the Demosian nobility. His message was relayed to the seneschal, who acknowledged the greeting with another bow before his gaunt face was replaced by the somewhat more pleasing one of the princess.

She was veiled, much like she had been when she was on Doom, but instead of her usual white, it was deep violet in hue. Her sanguine eyes were red-rimmed and sorrowful; she looked as if she had been weeping overly much as of late, and undoubtedly her lips were trembling beneath her finely woven facial covering. Her provocative black and red dress had also been set aside for one of a more conservative cut. The way in which she was carrying herself suggested that she was holding a greater burden than just the heavy serpentine diadem on her brow. She blinked slowly and then bowed her head towards him before speaking.

"Your Imperial Majesty, your presence is a pleasure that Her Radiance has not experienced for some time," the handmaiden reported in a softly lilting voice, "Her Radiance is honored."

Zarkon flexed his fingers unseen beneath his desk. If there ever was a person he had wanted to throttle the life from, it was her, but that would be playing his hand too early. Her father had already paid for his arrogance and scheming in spades, however. Her time would come soon enough. Her suffering had only just begun.

In contrast to his dark thoughts, his reply was cordial. "As am I, Princess Corrall. It was a great sorrow to me when I heard of your honored father's passing. While we regretfully did not become brothers through the joining of our houses, I still consider him and his as kin. You have my condolences."

When his words were translated, her eyes began to tear up at the mention of her departed sire. After a moment, she said something, which her servant promptly relayed back to him in his own language.

"Her Radiance thanks you, Emperor Zarkon. The mighty Zinvanos lost a great son when her honored father left this plane. Although she pines for him still, she has the comfort of knowing that they sup together in paradise now."

With great effort, the despot was able to keep the vindictive grin that threaten to cross his lips at bay.

..._Yes, and you will soon be joining them, you conniving whore_...

Dispatching the Emperor of Demos had been ridiculously easy. He had sent his top assassins off to do what they did best, and they had not disappointed. Not only had their presence gone undetected, but their murder of the monarch had been successfully passed off as an act of nature.

In contrast to his dark thoughts, his reply was magnanimous. "If there is anything I can do to ease your pain, you need only ask, Princess Corrall."

More gibberish was exchanged between the two women before the handmaiden bowed towards him once more. "Her Radiance is touched by your generosity and kindness, Emperor Zarkon."

"Of course, Princess Corall," the ruler of Doom answered, smiling thinly, "My only concern is your well-being."

The conversation continued for a few more minutes, punctuated by pointless niceties and occasional sniffling from the princess, before finally drawing to a close, much to the despot's relief.

As the holo screen powered down, he began ruminating again, quietly beating the surface of his desk with the fingers of one hand as he did so. Corrall would most definitely follow her father into the next world, his pride demanded no less, but he would need to be careful in its execution. Neither of their deaths could be tied to the Doom Empire, for it would further put him at a disadvantage while Voltron still existed, but this task could be accomplished easily enough so long as care was taken. With the Zin house wiped off of the map, Demos would be thrown into turmoil and therefore easy pickings when, and if, Lotor finally came back from Arus victorious and free of the infernal influence of Alfor's daughter.

At this thought, a frown creased Zarkon's features. The time had not yet arrived for him to see if his son would follow through on his vow to him, but in the event that he did not, then he would need to begin making other arrangements, namely finding a new empress and begetting a new heir on her. He did not like the idea of upsetting what stability he had established so far for his dynasty, even if only temporarily, but he had already shown mercy to the prince imperial once; he would not do so again a second time. He could not fault him for showing the trait of ambition, but when that ambition potentially threatened the stability of the empire that was his life's work, then it became a liability, one that could no longer be tolerated.

For a moment, the idea of possibly acquiring a new wife made _her_ flit into his mind, whose presence he pushed out just as quickly. No matter what, she could look nothing like _her_, even if she in actuality was not a traitorous whore like _her_. Long, blonde hair and glacial eyes gazing enigmatically at him would merely rekindle unpleasant memories and emotions that he would rather remain dormant and compartmentalized in the far recesses of his consciousness where they belonged. No, if he remarried, he would pick the woman the least like _her_ that he could find.

Zarkon leaned forward in his seat and sighed as he brought his hands up to his face in order to massage his temples. The prospect of finding a new bride while also planning the untimely death of a foe and the later conquest of their empire threatened to be a tiresome endeavor.

Suddenly, it hit him, a marvelous way to accomplish both tasks in one simple maneuver. He lifted his head from his hands as his lips stretched into a calculating grin. While her hands were undoubtedly at least somewhat soiled with her father's treachery, the Princess of Demos would in actuality make an excellent wife should Lotor fail him. By marrying her, he would be freed from the tedious task of planning her death and conquering the Demos Empire, and could instead assimilate it into his own without needing to expend nearly as many of his resources as he would have had to had he chosen the conquest route. His territory, wealth, and influence would be doubled, and with it all, he would do what his son or Haggar had not been able to do and destroy Voltron once and for all.

Corrall was also beautiful and looked fertile. Controlling her would also not be difficult, for like most females, she was filled with vanity, conceit, and petty thoughts, easily placated and distracted with empty words and material wealth. Another smile slid across the despot's face at the thought of robbing the daughter of his enemy of her virginity, if she had it still, even as he had robbed her father of his life. If she became a problem once again after bearing him another successor or two, then she could go the way of her murdered father; it did not matter, for the territory of Demos would remain in his grasp, he would make sure of it.

The more Zarkon thought about the idea, the more he liked it. It made political and logistic sense, but it also held a certain poetic quality to it. At this rate, he was beginning to hope Lotor would fail as he always did when it came to reconquering Arus. Anticipation began to well up in him. Even if his son did not fail, perhaps he would still marry Corrall, anyways. It would act as a potent reminder to Lotor that he was ultimately replaceable and quell any future potential thoughts of rebellion from him. Yes, this is what he would do.

Satisfied with his scheming, the ruler of Doom rose from his seat and exited his study before locking up after himself. As he entered his bedchamber, he noticed his newest harem slave seated on his bed in a lewd pose and wonderfully translucent garb. He smirked to himself as he began to tug off his clothing.

It was good to be the emperor.

* * *

><p>A few days later, Lotor watched the battle unfolding before him from the interior of his flagship with a mixture of both apprehension and impatience.<p>

The robeast the witch had designed to exploit the weakness of Voltron's right leg had just been released, and the Lions had been drawn to it like birds of prey to carrion. Luring them out had been simple enough; he had ordered the destruction of a few of the Arusian relay satellites in order to notify the Castle of Lions of his presence. Then, it had just been a matter of waiting to see if the Voltron Force would take the bait. They had not disappointed.

Haggar's latest creation burst forth from its casings in an impressive shower of metallic shrapnel. She really had outdone herself this time - the mecha was fearsome to behold, a sleek behemoth far more sophisticated than any of her other previous works. He had taken a look at her schematics for it and knew that it had the firepower to back up its intimidating image. The smaller sizes of the Lions afforded them greater maneuverability against its hulking mass and so were able to evade most of its blows, but neither were any of their attacks having any significant impact on it.

..._Come on, do it already_..., the prince imperial thought to himself.

They always waited until the end to form the robotic guardian, which he could not confess to understanding entirely. The Lions had never been able to take down a robeast without the benefit of being unified in one body, and while it was not advised to show your hand too early, it was just as unwise to draw a fight out longer than was really necessary. The potential for extra variables to be introduced to the situation would only be increased, and they could easily spell the difference between victory and defeat. For having so few resources to rely upon, Arus was unusually cavalier in its approach to its own defenses. But what else could one expect from an impoverished world that routinely put their future queen right in the path of a force with superior logistic and martial abilities? If it were not for his desire to make Allura his wife, the planet and what remained of its forces would have been crushed to oblivion long ago when he had first taken over Yurak's responsibility to subdue Voltron.

As if Kogane had miraculously heard his thoughts, the Lions abruptly flew away from the mecha and began to fly upwards at speeds necessary to gain the momentum that they needed to form Voltron.

"Sire, they are attempting to form Voltron," Mogor, his second-in-command, pointed out unnecessarily, "Permission to take appropriate action?"

"Denied, General" Lotor replied enigmatically as he narrowed his felinoid eyes, "Let them."

The hooded Drule's gaze widened suddenly. "Sire?"

"I said let them."

Mogor's stern visage tightened into a grimace of frustration. "Very well, Sire."

His orders were relayed and the Lions were allowed to form into the colossal construct in an awesome display. The prince briefly observed the phenomenon with a detached sense of interest. For being as old as Haggar claimed, the mecha was a piece of flawed artistry that defied logic itself. Despite being in countless battles and sustaining serious damage a number of times, its exterior seemed to gleam like new every time he came back to Arus. The Arusians could hardly have the technology to repair it, let alone the time, not with how frequently he attacked. Somehow they were doing it, though. He would find out how soon enough.

Lotor at last barked out the command for the robeast to engage the robot. The combat began again in earnest, and both of the mechas started to take heavier damage from their exchanges. After a time, Voltron predictably broke away and started to bring the heads of Red and Green Lion together in order to create the Blazing Sword.

..._Not this time, Kogane, not before I give you a parting gift_...

He swiftly gave the order for the robeast to fulfill the purpose that it had been built for. As the heads of the Lions came crashing together and then pulled apart to reveal the blinding brilliance that was the Sword forming, it launched itself suddenly at Blue Lion. His heart leapt into his throat when he witnessed the robot tear viciously into the Lion's joint. Metallic appendages snaked out of a compartment in the cavity of its chest and joined in on the damage that was being inflicted, burrowing in for the purpose of sending in a surge of corrupting power that would interrupt and ultimately impede the inner mechanism that all of the Lions used to become Voltron.

He truly regretted having to target the Princess of Arus, but it was a necessary step to take in securing her safety. His father would kill her if he truly understood the depths to which he was still going to in order to protect her. For her sake, as well as the sake of his plans, he had to be seen as indifferent towards her fate even as he continued to go out of his way for her. With the Lions no longer able to form the great construct, he would press his advantage and continue on with his subterfuge with Zarkon. When the emperor was safely out of the way and the throne his at last, then he would have the leverage necessary to place the princess where she was supposed to be - at his side. He trusted Haggar's work, but it was still an enormous leap of faith to be directly targeting Blue Lion with one of her creations.

Voltron had to be stopped, but if she were to be inadvertently killed by one of the sorceress' projects on his orders... A cold dread fell upon him at the terrible thought. He did not know what he would do. The sorceress had served his father with an unswerving devotion, though, at least until she was no longer able to tolerate his poor treatment of her, and he had to trust that she would have the same allegiance towards him - in the end, it was the only way that their arrangement and plans would work out. His respect and affection for her were real enough, but he also recognized her value as an ally. His father had made a mistake in isolating and driving her away; he would not make the same blunder. She was powerful, but hardly infallible, and he found himself uttering a silent prayer to the Gods for success. He had run the scheme through his mind a countless number of times, attempting to discover every possible outcome of the fight, but there was still a large degree of the unknown to it. The parameters Haggar had programmed into the robeast's AI had to work, they just had to.

It was as if the battle were being fought in slow-motion. As the robeast exerted all of its efforts into targeting Blue Lion's joint, Voltron completed the motion necessary to generate the weapon it used to perform its death blows. It tried to shake the witch's mecha off, but when the attempt did not succeed, it swung desperately at it with the blade. It bit deeply into its exterior, but still the robeast clung to the construct. It was not until it had finished delivering its payload that it finally relinquished its grip on Blue Lion. Voltron hacked at it a few more times with the fabled blade until it was completely destroyed.

Mogor paled at the display and abruptly turned towards the prince imperial. "Sire, we are in a vulnerable position now. Do I have your permission to initiate a retreat?"

Lotor tensely folded his arms across his chest, barely glancing at his second-in-command as he did so. "No. We wait. Ensure that all deflector shields remain at full power."

The general was stunned at his order. "But, Sire-!"

The son of Zarkon leveled a look at him, as if seeing him for the first time. "Do it."

Sweat broke out on the officer's brow at the threat in his words, but he managed a quick bow.

"As you wish, Sire," he said curtly.

The decree was quickly carried out. As the remains of the robeast drifted through the vacuum of space, Voltron suddenly re-brandished its Sword and began to charge for the fleet like an avenging spirit. The hearts of everyone onboard undoubtedly stopped at that moment, but after a couple of seconds, the mecha abruptly convulsed and halted. Lotor watched with baited breath as the eyes of Blue Lion flared and the ship began to slide haltingly from its joint. It fell from the guardian's body in almost agonized-looking motion as it gradually resumed its normal leonine shape. At the same time, the eyes of Voltron's humanoid face seemed to burn before they disappeared as the maw of Black Lion closed. The form of the Blazing Sword wavered momentarily and then melted away into effervescent motes of light as the rest of the Lions began to peel away from Black.

The dark prince momentarily forgot his unease as a devious smile crossed his azure features. They had done it. The robeast had been vanquished, but it had served its purpose, and the mechanism that the Lions used to become Voltron had been damaged, perhaps permanently. If that were the case, then they would never be able to form the construct again. Even if it wasn't, the body of Blue Lion was still heavily damaged. The odds of it being repairable were slim to none, and the robot could not be formed while it remained in such a state.

"Sire...," Mogor breathed in wonderment at the sight of the dreaded mecha finally being taken apart, "Shall we press our advantage?"

Lotor considered him coolly as he stood and briefly stretched out his knotted musculature. "No. We need to replenish supplies and pick up the upgrade to the robeast's design that Haggar has been working on. We have achieved our objective for now, and we shall return soon enough. Set course for Planet Doom."

Mogor hesitated, but only for a moment.

"As you wish, Sire," he uttered as he inclined his head respectfully towards the prince.

As the flagship and its fleet made preparations to head back towards the Crimson Quadrant, the battered bodies of the Lions drifted raggedly until they became caught in the gravitational pull of Arus, where they would soon fall like rocks to the planet's surface.


	20. The End of Us, Ch 20

**Disclaimer:** Voltron and its characters, settings, and storyline are copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd. and Toei Animation Company. DDP comic concepts and ideas are copyrighted by Devil's Due Publishing. Cover image is a screenshot from Cheezey's website, Cossack the Terrible's Tour of Planet Doom. References to areas of the Denubian Galaxy (i.e. Azure Quadrant, Onyx Star System, etc.) are from the map developed by Shannon Muir and sanctioned by WEP. The title and song lyric are from the song, "Why isn't That Enough," by Meatloaf from his 2003 album, "Couldn't Have Said it Better". All other names, places, characters, and plot bunnies are my own unless otherwise noted. I am in no way affiliated with the aforementioned companies. No monetary profit is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended. Please do not do not re-post or reuse this work without obtaining my written permission first. Thank you.

**Author's Note: **Thank you for reviewing my last chapter, KathDMD and Drowningblonde! I am really glad you guys liked it. :) Sorry for the shortness of this newest chapter - the muse seems to be working in spurts.

**The End of Us, Ch. 20**

The Emperor of Doom was reclining on the imperial seat when his son, along with his general Mogor, entered the throne room. Off to his side sat Haggar, clutching her gnarled staff with one hand and stroking the thick fur of her familiar, who was laying in her lap. Once Lotor reached the steps that led up the golden dais, he knelt and pressed his forehead to the floor.

Zarkon looked down at his progeny, his distinctive features arranged into an enigmatic expression. "News of your victory reached me not too long ago, my son. Such a blow has not been dealt to Voltron for many years."

The prince imperial raised his head, but maintained his submissive posture. "Yes, Father. This is a great day for the Empire. Blue Lion has been heavily damaged, and with the mechanism the Lions use to form Voltron no longer operational, Arus is once more vulnerable. As soon as we take on more supplies, I will return forthwith to lay waste to the Castle of Lions and reconquer the planet."

For a couple of moments, the despot said nothing to this, his face stoic so as to not betray the elation and surprise that he was feeling at this turn of events. This was indeed a great day for the empire. He had not felt this much excitement since the day the robotic sentinel's body was torn apart by the great explosion. He had also honestly not expected for his heir to reverse the pattern of behavior he had established for himself regarding the daughter of Alfor. The prince had given his word that he would target her specifically, but still, this was a sudden change.

"Was it difficult for you to strike her down?" Zarkon asked him suddenly.

Lotor's eyes seemed to flicker for a moment, but when he answered him, his tone of voice was cold. "Once I realized where my true priorities lay, no. She will no longer distract me from my duties or my destiny."

The emperor merely nodded in reply, his dark countenance still unreadable. He remained surprised, even suspicious, but for the first time in months, a cautious pride began to well up in him. His son was finally returned to him. Grasping his scepter in one hand, he rose to his feet and began to descend the stairs of the dais, his crimson and black mantle trailing after him. The prince's eyes widened at his unexpected action, but his face was otherwise impassive.

When he finally stood towering over him, he grandly intoned, "Rise, my son."

Lotor obeyed, slowly rising up from the floor. The top of his head just barely reached the despot's chin. Zarkon then embraced him in front of the entire court.

"You have done well, my son. Continue in this, and great rewards shall be in your future."

For a moment, his heir did not respond.

"I have much to set right, Father," he eventually replied, "This marks a turning point in the fate of the Denubian Galaxy and the Empire. When I return, it shall be with the remains of the Lions and the heads of their pilots."

Only Haggar was able to look down and see the glimmer of calculation mingled with the surprise in the prince imperial's felinoid eyes.

The emperor released him and stepped back, gesturing widely with his massive arms. "Go then, my son, and prepare. Slaughter them all."

Lotor bowed, "Of course, Father."

Zarkon made a gesture of dismissal, and bowing once more, his heir promptly exited the throne room.

* * *

><p>Corrall's sanguine eyes remained wide open long after her latest conversation with the Emperor of Doom ended.<p>

Her handmaiden Me'nal stood by her side. Even though she was respectfully gazing down at the mosaic of serpents on the floor, her soft voice nonetheless conveyed concern. "Your Radiance, are you feeling well?"

The Heiress Apparent to the throne of Demos did not respond right away. Zarkon's words still reverberated in her mind, driving away all other thought for the moment.

..._While I realize that you will have many suitors to choose from, you will find that none of them will be able to offer you the advantages that I would give you. I understand that my proposition is very sudden, but I hope that you will consider it, Princess Corrall_...

He had been kind towards her since her father's demise, even apologetic for his son's unbelievable boorishness, and she had drawn comfort from his words and advise; perhaps it was because he, in some way, filled the void that her father had left after he had died so suddenly. However, she never dreamed that his interest in her was of this nature. She still felt shocked by his offer.

"I-I am fine, Me'nal. Bring me something to drink," she finally answered her servant, the shakiness in her voice barely detectable.

"As you wish, Your Radiance," the handmaiden said, bowing low.

She then turned and disappeared from the room, her pale gown whispering over the floor behind her.

Corrall silently went over to a plush couch that was nearby and sat down on it. She would be crowned empress soon, and would need to choose a suitable husband at some point. Most of the time Zin women chose male relatives to be the fathers of their children, a practice that was necessary to preserve the sanctity of their bloodline. However, they sometimes married outside of the family, as she almost did with Prince Lotor, if the benefit of an alliance was substantial enough. And now his father sought to marry her himself? She paled at the thought of embracing the man. He was certainly charismatic and held a certain presence that was similar to how her father's had been, but that was where the resemblance abruptly ended. He was frightening-looking and massive... and so _old_. He seemed old enough to be her grandsire. It was still difficult to believe that he was the father of her former fiancé; they differed from each other like night and day.

The princess imperial's cheeks flushed in embarrassment and anger as her thoughts turned towards his son. She had never felt such shame in her life as she had felt after being rejected and then sent home like a piece of baggage. She was the heir to the Demosian Empire, a daughter of Zinvanos! She had the blood of a god coursing through her veins! Who was he to reject her?! He was nothing but an arrogant mongrel. Rather, it was she who should have rejected him, even if it was her father who had consented to the alliance! Somehow, she would make him pay for his hubris... and then it hit her. There was a way in which she could assuage her injured pride in addition to expanding the influence and wealth of her empire.

Narrowing her gaze, she thought fiercely to herself, ..._If he would not have me for his wife... then I will be his step-mother and ensure that my children take what is his, and he will despair knowing what he lost and could have had with me!_...

The mental image of Lotor on his knees before her as his world fell around his pointed ears brought a vindictive smile to her face. Maybe then he would realize how grievous a mistake he had made with her, and all for what? A slave?! Corrall pressed the manicured fingers of one hand to her lips to smother the almost hysterical titter that burbled in her throat. The very idea was simply ludicrous. He had performed the equivalent of choosing to consume dirt over the most lavish of feasts. He was a fool, and he would suffer the consequences of his actions.

Me'nal soon returned with a glass of wine, which the princess daintily sipped from.

"You seem to be feeling better, Your Radiance," she commented reverently.

Corrall drank once more and smiled into her beverage. "Indeed. I have much I must think on. You are dismissed."

Her handmaiden swept her a deep bow and left her alone to dwell in her visions of the prince imperial prostrating himself at her slippered feet.


End file.
